Holmes Is Where the Heart Is
by LizzeXX
Summary: Sherlock/OC – Leena, a very old friend of Sherlock's, has returned to London from working for the BAU. How will her relationship with Sherlock fare when Irene gets involved? How will Sherlock react when Leena joins him in Baskerville? What will happen to them during the epic fall? Second in the Jackie Holmes Chronicles.
1. A Scandal in Belgravia: The Woman

A/N: Welcome, welcome! This is an OC/Sherlock story, Holmes Is Where the Heart Is, a little play on Home Is Where the Heart Is, the second story in my series, The Jackie Holmes Chronicles (see my profile for other OC stories, Supernatural and DW). My OC, Jacqueline 'Leena' Jerrard, called Jackie by everyone who isn't Sherlock, is a very old, very close friend of Sherlock Holmes, so close that she has her own nicknames for him, Sherwood, when around others, and Locksley, in private, based on her favorite story as a child, Robin Hood. Leena is of average height, with light blonde hair just down to her chest that hangs straight with a little wave to it with gray eyes. I picture her to look something like the actress Brianna Brown. This will also be a_ minor_ crossover with Criminal Minds as Leena has been in America the last four years working with the BAU, slight references will be made to that show.

I am going to try to keep as true and in character to Sherlock as I can, though I give one caveat, you are a different person around your friends than around your family or co-workers or others. Leena is closer to him than anyone, the two of them entering a relationship in my first story, Holmes, Sweet Holmes, (I would recommend reading that first if you are just picking up this story) to understand their dynamic and past. This story picks up with a very long and very established relationship/friendship between Sherlock and Leena long before the show begins that we only learn more of as time goes on.

This story will be updated daily, with the episodes broken up into two chapters.

~8~ is a scene break

'...' is a form of communication between Sherlock and Leena where he deduces her expressions and she profiles his, silently communicating without speaking.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, not Sherlock Holmes or the BBC's show...otherwise we'd have the third series out by now.

Enjoy!

~8~

A Scandal in Belgravia: The Woman

Sherlock stood, his gun trained on the bomb jacket lying on the floor of the pool, Moriarty before him, staring him down, as John knelt on the floor beside Leena.

Moriarty smirked, "Come now Sherlock, would you _really_ pull the trigger? I know you won't blow up the pool. Oh," he frowned, "You'd have no problem doing it, killing yourself, killing John even…" before smirking again, "But you'd _never_ risk your precious _Leena_, would you?"

Sherlock tensed, glancing at the bomb.

The tension was so thick it could have been cut with a knife, until…

The Bee Gees 'Stayin' Alive' began to play.

Sherlock and John glanced at each other, confused, till Moriarty closed his eyes in irritation and sighed, "D'you mind if I get that?" he asked, pointing at his pocket.

"No, no, please," Sherlock motioned with his gun to go ahead, "You've got the rest of your life."

Moriarty took the phone from his pocket and answered, "Hello?" he paused, listening, "Yes, of _course_ it is. What do you want?" he mouthed 'sorry' at Sherlock, who sarcastically mouthed back 'oh it's fine.' Moriarty rolled his eyes, listening to the conversation, turning away slightly, before spinning back, "SAY THAT AGAIN!" he shouted, glaring at nothing in particular, making Sherlock frown, "_Say that again_," Moriarty threatened, "And know that if you're _lying_ to me, I will find you and I will _skin_ you!" he nodded, "Wait," and lowered the phone, stepping forward as Sherlock stiffened, eyeing the bomb, till Moriarty stopped, "Sorry. Wrong day to die."

"Oh," Sherlock nearly scoffed, "Did you get a better offer?"

Moriarty looked at his phone, then turned around to walk out, "You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock," he moved to the back doors he'd entered through and picked the phone back up, "So if you have what you say you have, I will make you rich. If you don't, I'll make you into shoes," he lifted his free hand and snapped his fingers, the lasers turning off as he vanished out the doors.

Sherlock looked around for only a moment, but saw no snipers, John letting out a sigh, "What happened there?" he asked.

Sherlock glanced at him, putting the gun away and moving to check on Leena, "Someone changed his mind," he remarked, trying to rouse her, "The question is…who?" he shook her a little more as she groaned.

"Do NOT tell me," she began, rubbing her head as Sherlock helped her sit up, "That I _missed _it!"

Sherlock smirked, "No, I didn't kill him yet."

"Good," she huffed, "I'd rather like the pleasure."

~8~

Leena smiled as she stood beside Sherlock, across from John and Lestrade in the morgue of St. Bart's, the man going to town examining a new body. He'd had a bit of a bad run the last few weeks, so many people had come to him to solve crimes, most of which he'd deemed too boring to bother with. There was a man who thought his wife was cheating on him, a woman who thought the same of her husband, a man who claimed his aunt's ashes weren't human ashes (she honestly didn't want to know how he could tell the difference as he claimed he could), a business whose files had been stolen…though the boys who claimed their comic books were coming true had interested him a little, occupied him for a day or so, before more cases came in.

Now though, it seemed like Sherlock had a true mystery to solve. The woman on the slab was blonde, with tiny odd specks all over her body and no known cause of death.

"Do people actually _read_ your blog?" Sherlock asked John absently as he looked at the body through a magnifying glass.

"Where d'you think our clients come from?" John countered.

"Sherwood _does_ have a website of his own," Leena shrugged.

John gave a little laugh, "In which he enumerates 240 different types of tobacco ash," he shook his head and looked at Sherlock, "Nobody's reading your website."

Sherlock straightened up and glared at him, pouting a little, as Leena snorted behind her hand, trying to keep from laughing. She was growing more and more impressed with John the more she got to know him. Not many people would say that to Sherlock's face.

John though, didn't seem to notice as he looked back at the body, "Right then, dyed blonde hair, no obvious cause of death except for these speckles, whatever they are…" he pointed to the tiny red spots and looked up, only to see Sherlock had already turned to storm out of the room.

Leena shook her head, "Don't worry about him John," she reassured him, rushing after Sherlock, catching up to him in the hall and absently taking his hand.

He glanced over at her and smiled, squeezing her hand in return. They were truly back to how they had been, never far from the other's side if they could help it.

~8~

Later that week Leena was walking with Sherlock and John, following Lestrade as he led them towards a car. They'd just met with two rather adorable little girls who were concerned that they hadn't been able to see their grandfather who had recently died…and Sherlock had told them all about the wonders of cremation, probably scarring them for life. But then Lestrade had appeared and Sherlock was off on another mystery, the 'Speckled Blonde' as John had titled it in his blog, solved.

"There was a plane crash in Dusseldorf yesterday," Lestrade was saying, "Everyone dead."

"Suspected terrorist bomb," Sherlock rolled his eyes, his hand in Leena's.

"I've managed to get him to watch the news at least," Leena added.

John scoffed, "He said, 'Boring,' and turned over."

Lestrade shook his head and stopped by the car, its boot opened, a body inside. Sherlock frowned and moved to look around the car and body as Lestrade explained all they knew, "Well, according to the flight details," he glanced at a bag of evidence, handing it to Leena, "This man was checked in on board. Inside his coat he's got a stub from his boarding pass, napkins from the flight, even one of those special biscuits. Here's his passport stamped in Berlin Airport. So this man_ should _have died in a plane crash in Germany yesterday but instead he's in a car boot in Southwark."

"Lucky escape," John commented.

Lestrade glanced at Leena and Sherlock, "Any ideas?"

Sherlock looked through his magnifier at the body, "Eight, so far."

"Six," Leena huffed, she always tried to get more plausible explanations than Sherlock, never quite seemed to manage it though.

He straightened and looked at the body again, frowning, "Ok, four ideas."

Leena eyed the body closely, "No, still six," she started to smile.

Sherlock took the passport and ticket stub in the evidence bag, looking at the airline, Flyaway Airways, and up at the sky, "Maybe _two_ ideas."

Leena sighed, "I have no idea," when he narrowed it down to two ideas she knew he was an inch away from solving the crime and to not even bother trying her own theories.

~8~

Back in 221B Baker Street, Sherlock was wearing heavy protective gloves and safety glasses, carrying a blowtorch and glass container of green liquid, pausing by John, who was typing up his latest blog, 'Sherlock Holmes Baffled,' while Leena sat on the sofa, curled up and reading a book.

"No, no, no, don't mention the _unsolved_ ones!" Sherlock cried.

"People want to know you're human," John argued, "Why do you think I blog about Leena...Jackie," he corrected quickly when Sherlock glared at him, "Don't worry, I call her _Jackie_."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do people want to know?"

"'Cos they're interested."

"No they're not," he frowned, "_Why_ are they?"

"Because you're a fascinating man," Leena called.

He looked over at her, grinning smugly, pleased with that answer. He was, admittedly, _always_ trying to impress her. She had been one of the first to find his deductive reasoning fascinating, much like John had, and he had improved upon them, built them up in the hopes of continuing to impress her as time went on.

It appeared he was succeeding.

Excellent.

"Look at that," John muttered, tapping the screen, on the hit counter of his blog, "1,895."

"Sorry, what?" Sherlock looked over.

"I re-set that counter last night."

"So you've gotten almost 2,000 hits in the last eight hours?" Leena asked as John nodded, "Well done John, congratulations."

"Thanks," John smiled, before glancing up at Sherlock, "This is your living, Sherlock, not 240 different types of tobacco ash."

Sherlock's lips pursed, "24_3_," he corrected, firing up the blowtorch and putting his safety glasses back on, heading for the kitchen.

"Don't burn the kitchen down!" Leena called jokingly after him, "I'd like to take tea in an hour or so!"

~8~

Later on Leena sat on the bed in Sherlock's room, Sherlock just lying beside her, his head resting on her lap, smiling as she laughed heartily at the newspaper before her. A picture of the three of them from a previous case that had happened in a theater, the three of them had gotten caught by the press and Sherlock had grabbed hats for them to hide under. It was ridiculous, those hats were, the papers had taken to calling them 'Catwoman, Hatman, and Robin' given that her particular had had been a black woolen one with cat ears attached, while Sherlock's had been a deerstalker. She thought the name was adorable, Sherlock was less amused, but pleased that she was enjoying it.

A man had come to the flat earlier, afraid he may have somehow killed someone. Apparently his car had broken down and, when he'd gone to check the engine, noticed a man standing by a stream a far distance away. When he'd gotten into his car, which had backfired, he'd looked over to see the man had collapsed. Rushing over, he'd seen that the man was dead, bleeding heavily from the back of the head. He wasn't sure if he'd killed the man in the red jacket or someone else had so he'd gone straight to Sherlock for help.

Sherlock had sent John there to scout out the crime scene, according to him, this wasn't a top priority case. He loved to rate his cases by levels of interest and difficulty, this was a six, and he refused to leave the flat for anything less than seven, so it had _just_ missed the mark. As soon as John had stepped out the door, Leena had smirked, one he knew very well, she had a prank in mind. While he may not seem the prankster, he loved tricking people, either into confessions or giving up information, or just to mess with them, his brother especially. It was something that had developed when he'd met Leena, when she'd taken revenge against Mycroft for cutting the heads off her dollies. Whenever the man had been foul to her, she'd pull some sort of underhanded prank, often getting Sherlock to help her either anticipate Mycroft's moves or cover up their tracks so not even a Holmes could deduce what had happened or who had done it.

Leena's laughs quieted down when there was a ping from the hallway, from the sitting room where Sherlock's laptop was. Sherlock smirked, glancing at her, "Phase One," he began, rolling to his feet and pulling off his shirt, grabbing a sheet Leena had left folded at the end of the bed. He wrapped it around himself and headed into the sitting room, spotting John's face pop up on the webcam.

"You realize this is a tiny bit humiliating?" John called.

Sherlock grinned to himself, moving to pick up the laptop, he knew John wouldn't react to HIM wearing just a sheet, but that was just phase _one_, "It's ok, I'm fine," he moved to sit in the sitting room, plopping down on the sofa, "Now, show me the stream."

"I didn't really mean for _you_."

"This is a six John," Leena called as she walked over, dressed in her own sheet, wrapped tightly around her like a makeshift toga, "He won't leave the flat for anything less than a seven," she smirked at Sherlock mouthing 'Phase Two' before sitting beside him.

John blinked as she sat, seeing that she was wearing what Sherlock was wearing too, "Where were you two just now?"

"Bedroom."

"Were you two just…" he quickly shook his head, "Never mind! I _don'_t want to know! I _really _don't. Don't say a thing!" he looked back, "Why don't you both just put some clothes on and come out here yourselves?"

Leena looked up as the doorbell rang but Sherlock had taken her hand, unwilling to allow her up, "Because we agreed. Now, go back. Show us the grass."

John rolled his eyes but walked to the stream, pointing the camera on his laptop at the grass and the stream, squatting down, "When did we agree that?"

"We agreed it yesterday. Stop!" he leaned closer, looking at the mud, "Closer."

John just turned the laptop around, "I wasn't even at home yesterday. I was in Dublin."

"Well, it's hardly _my_ fault you weren't listening."

Leena laughed, shaking her head fondly, "Oh Sherwood."

The doorbell rang again, more insistently.

Sherlock glared at the stairs, "Shut up!"

Leena put a hand on his arm, "I'll get it," she stood.

"You should put a robe on first," he tugged her back.

She frowned, turning to him, "Why?" before smirking, "I thought you liked me in a toga."

He smirked, "I do. But I don't like anyone_ else_ seeing the same."

She rolled her eyes but moved back towards the bedroom.

"D'you just carry on talking when I'm away?" John called, pulling Sherlock's attention back.

He shrugged, "I don't know. How often are you away?"

"Of course," John nodded, "You wouldn't notice. Do you notice when Leena's disappeared?"

"Always. Now, show me the car that backfired."

Sighing, John stood and moved the laptop towards the road, where the car was, "It's there."

"That's the one that made the noise, yes?"

John swung the laptop back around, "Yeah. And if you're thinking gunshot, there wasn't one. He wasn't shot, he was killed by a single blow to the back of the head from a blunt instrument which then magically disappeared along with the killer. That's gotta be an eight _at least_."

Sherlock leaned back on the sofa, running a finger back and forth across his lip, thinking.

"You've got two more minutes," a man called, the Detective Inspector assigned to that case, "Then I want to know more about the driver."

"Oh, forget him," Sherlock scoffed, "He's an idiot. Why else would he think himself a suspect?"

"_I_ think he's a suspect!"

"Pass me over."

"Alright," John warned, "But there's a 'mute button' and I _will_ use it."

"Up a bit! I'm not talking from down here!"

John just passed the laptop over completely, "Ok, just take it, take it."

As soon as a new face appeared, Sherlock went off, "Having driven to an isolated location and successfully committed a _crime_ without a _single_ witness, why would he then call _the police_ and consult a _detective_? Fair play?"

"He's trying to be clever," the man defended, "It's over-confidence."

"Did you _see _him? Morbidly obese, the undisguised halitosis of a single man living on his own, the right sleeve of an internet porn addict, and the breathing pattern of an untreated heart condition. Low self-esteem, tiny IQ, and a limited life expectancy, and you think he's an audacious criminal mastermind?!" he glanced up at the driver, still sitting across from him, as he had been the entire time, to nervous to leave the flat so they ignored his presence for the most part, "Don't worry, this is just stupid."

"What did you say?" Phil, the driver, gasped, anxious, "Heart _what_?"

"It's alright," Leena called, stepping back into the room, in the process of putting her hair up in a clip, a strand of it uncooperative and falling to the side of her face, now dressed in casual black slacks, black converse shoes, and a dark blue jumper, "Would you like some tea?"

Sherlock glanced at her and frowned, "I said a 'robe.'"

She rolled her eyes, "Yes, and doorbell usually means company. As in, more than one pair of eyes."

Not having an argument, Sherlock turned back to the camera as Leena smirked and moved to the kitchen to make some tea, "Go to the stream."

"What's in the stream?" the Inspector called.

"Go and see," he remarked, glancing up as Mrs. Hudson entered with two large men in suits.

"Sherlock! You weren't answering your doorbell!"

"I'm sorry Mrs. Hudson," Leena called, stepping into the room, "I was dressing and then I had to put the tea on first…"

"Oh it's alright dear," Mrs. Hudson walked over, hugging her before moving past her and into the kitchen to prepare the tea herself.

"His room's through the back," one of his men turned to his partner, "Get him some clothes."

"Who the hell are you?" Sherlock asked as Leena walked over to sit on the arm of the sofa, putting her arm around his shoulders.

"Sorry, Mr. Holmes," the man said as his partner went to gather the requested clothes. He glanced between the two of them, "You're coming with us," before reaching forward and closing the lid of the laptop as his partner returned, placing the clothes on the table.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at it and shrugged.

"Please, Mr. Holmes," the man stated, "Where you're going, you'll want to be dressed."

Sherlock just eyed the men, analyzing him, deducing him. He noted the expensive suit, the lack of weapons, his manicured nails, the work lines on his forehead, how he was right handed, well kept shoes, and small hairs on his trouser legs from small dogs.

He smirked, "Oh, I know _exactly_ where we're going," he stood, holding out an arm to Leena, "Shall we?"

She nodded and stood as well, 'Mycroft?' she guessed in her expression.

'Exactly,' he nodded.

'Excellent,' she smirked.

Oh the possibilities that would present themselves with Sherlock wearing nothing more than a sheet and pants.

~8~

Leena and Sherlock, still wrapped in his sheet, were sitting on a sofa in an ornate room, the pile of clothes and shoes sitting on a coffee table before them, when John entered and sat down beside Sherlock, who was in the middle.

John glanced at Sherlock, then around the room, then back at Sherlock, before looking away, "Are you wearing any pants?"

"No," Sherlock said.

Leena smirked, liar.

"Ok," John nodded.

But, playing along, she leaned forward to look at John on the other side of Sherlock, "He's very stubborn, and I'd rather fight to get his pants off than on."

She sat back, trying desperately to hide her smirk as John started choking on air, making Sherlock chuckle quietly.

"Oh," John shook his head, figuring out they were trying to get a rise out of him. He looked around, glancing at the coffee table with an ashtray on it, "I'm seriously fighting an impulse to steal an ashtray," he said, for any way to get the topic _away_ from Sherlock's lack of pants, "What are we doing here? Seriously, what?"

Sherlock, still smiling, simply remarked, "I don't know."

"Here to see the Queen?"

"Oh yes," Leena murmured as Mycroft walked in from the next room, making the boys laugh.

"Just_ once_, can you behave like grown-ups?" Mycroft rolled his eyes exasperatedly.

"We solve crimes," John countered, "She kicks people in the shins, I blog about it all, and he forgets his pants, so I wouldn't hold out too much hope."

Sherlock's expression faded, growing more irritated as Mycroft made his way over, "I was in the middle of a case, Mycroft."

"What, the hiker and the backfire?" Mycroft scoffed, "I glanced at the police report. Bit obvious, surely?"

"Transparent."

John looked started that Sherlock had worked out the crime already, while Leena just frowned, she'd worked out _most_ of it, but just needed a final connection to get it.

"Time to move on then," Mycroft nodded, bending down and picking up the clothes to offer to Sherlock, who just gave him a look, making him sigh, "We are in _Buckingham Palace_, the very _heart_ of the British nation," he returned the look with a stern one, "Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on."

Sherlock shrugged, "What for?"

"Your client."

"And my client is?" he asked, standing.

"Illustrious…" an older man entered, very well dressed, very prim and proper, "…in the extreme," he added as John stood respectfully, "And remaining, I have to inform you, entirely _anonymous_," he smiled at Mycroft, "Mycroft!"

"Harry," Mycroft greeted, walking over to shake the man's hand, "May I just apologize for the state of my little brother?"

"Full-time occupation, I imagine," he glanced at Sherlock, who scowled, and over at Leena, "And Jacqueline Jerrard, former British liaison to the American BAU, now a member of Scotland Yard's own profiling unit."

"Pleasure," Leena remarked tensely, shaking the man's hand. Frowning as he kissed the back of it, feeling Sherlock tense beside her.

"And this must be Dr. John Watson," he added, noticing the man, "Formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers."

"Hello, yes," John nodded, shaking his hand.

"My employer is a tremendous fan of your blog."

John looked startled, "Your employer?"

"Particularly enjoyed the one about the aluminum crutch."

"Thank you!"

Harry nodded and looked back at Sherlock, walking over to him, "And Mr. Holmes the younger. You look taller in your photographs."

"I take the precaution of a good coat and a short friend," Sherlock countered, glancing at John before walking right over to Mycroft, "Mycroft, I don't _do_ anonymous clients. I'm used to mystery at _one_ end of my cases. Both ends is too much work," he glanced at Harry, "Good morning," before he started to walk out of the room.

Mycroft, however, just stepped on the end of the sheet trailing behind him, nearly pulling the sheet off Sherlock, who managed to grab the end of it before it revealed his ruse of not being _completely_ naked under it. He tugged on it, but Mycroft wouldn't budge.

"This is a matter of _national_ importance," Mycroft snapped, "Grow up!"

Leena let out a laugh, "Says the man who just tried to pants his little brother in the middle of Buckingham Palace."

"Get off my sheet!" Sherlock hissed through clenched teeth.

"Or what?" Mycroft countered.

"Or I'll just walk away."

"I'll let you."

Leena laughed again, "Oh I would LOVE that."

"Boys, please," John cut in, seeing Leena wouldn't be any help, "Not here."

"Who. Is. My. _Client_?" Sherlock demanded.

"Take a look at where you're standing and make a deduction," Mycroft replied, "You are to be engaged by the highest in the land. Now _for God's sake_…" he sighed, glancing at Harry, and back, "…put your clothes on!"

Sherlock just tensed but made no move.

Mycroft rolled his eyes, "Jacqueline," he entreated, "If you would be so kind?"

Leena sighed and rolled her eyes, before smirking as a thought hit her. She nodded, picking up the clothes and walking to stand before Sherlock, "Please?" she asked, though her tone indicated there was more to her asking than for Mycroft's sake.

Sherlock tilted his head a moment, eyeing her smirking expression and nodded.

She grinned, "Mycroft, if you would?" she glanced at the man, who removed his foot, and reached out to take Sherlock's hand, leading him off.

"Um," John called, "Where are you going?"

Leena just looked back over her shoulder at them, "As he said," she nodded at Harry, "It's a full-time occupation, isn't it?" she tugged Sherlock towards the doors, throwing a, "I'm going to _help_," over her shoulder.

Sherlock smirked, seeing her plan, "We may be a while," he added as they disappeared around a corner, both bursting out in silent laughter at what the trio must be thinking they'd be doing.

~8~

Sherlock was sitting on the sofa, grinning smugly, his arm around Leena's shoulder, John on the other side of him, with Mycroft and Harry across from them. Mycroft was tense, pouring tea from a teapot, smirking at Harry, "I'll be mother," he remarked about the superstition that only the mother should pour tea.

"And there is a whole childhood in a nutshell," Sherlock remarked.

"Don't insult your mother Sherwood," Leena rested a hand on his arm, making him sit back as Mycroft glowered at them.

"My employer has a problem," Harry began, turning to Sherlock.

"A matter has come to light of an extremely delicate and potentially criminal nature, and in this hour of need, dear brother, your name has arisen," Mycroft added.

"Why?" Sherlock eyed him, "You have a police force of sorts, even a marginally 'Secret' Service. Why come to me?"

"People do come to you for help, don't they Mr. Holmes?" Harry asked.

"Not, to date, anyone with a Navy."

"This is a matter of the highest security and, therefore, of trust," Mycroft explained.

John frowned, "You don't trust your own Secret Service?"

"Naturally not. They all spy on people for money."

"I do think we have a timetable," Harry cut in.

"Yes, of course. Um…" he opened his briefcase and took out a glossy photo, handing it to Sherlock, who looked at a picture of a woman with dark brown hair in a tight dress, "What do you know about this woman?"

"Nothing whatsoever," Sherlock remarked, tossing the picture back, it landing on the table.

"Then you should be paying more attention…"

"She's the center of two political scandals in the last year," Leena interrupted, "Recently she ended the marriage of a prominent novelist by having an affair with both participants separately."

The men looked at her, shocked.

She rolled her eyes, "Just because I wasn't here, doesn't mean I didn't keep track of what was happening. Especially in politics Mycroft."

"You know I don't concern myself with trivia," Sherlock rolled his eyes at his brother before turning to Leena, "Who is she?"

"Irene Adler."

Mycroft nodded, "Professionally known as 'The Woman.'"

"Professionally?" John shook his head, confused.

"There are many names for what she does. She prefers 'dominatrix.'"

Sherlock frowned, almost thoughtful, "Dominatrix?"

"Don't be alarmed. It's to do with sex."

"Sex doesn't alarm me."

Mycroft smiled a snide smile at him, "How would _you_ know?"

Sherlock and Leena just looked at each other and laughed, "Your spies must not be up to par Mycroft," Leena remarked.

"That or your skills are lacking," Sherlock added.

Mycroft frowned, eyeing them, before his eyes widened, working out exactly what had taken them so long in getting Sherlock dressed.

Leena smirked, seeing his look, "When would I ever get another chance in _Buckingham Palace_?"

Mycroft closed his eyes and shook his head before turning to Harry, "My apologizes, SHE is typically not like this."

She leaned more on Sherlock, dropping her hand from his arm to his thigh, "Sherwood must be rubbing off on me."

Sherlock smirked, seeing his brother shifting uncomfortably as he moved his arm from her shoulder to around her waist, stroking her side. His skills really _had _to be lacking, if he couldn't see the evidence _against_ their lie. They hadn't done anything of the sort, but they'd made it their lifelong mission to make Mycroft's life difficult. And they were doing a fantastic job of it if they were being honest.

"Perhaps we should continue?" Harry asked, growing uncomfortable as well, thinking about what the two must have done and not having a clue where they'd gone before.

Mycroft cleared his throat, "Miss Adler provides, shall we say, recreational scolding for those who enjoy that sort of thing and are prepared to pay for it," he pulled more photos out and held them out to Sherlock, who refused to take them, so he placed them on the table, "These are all from her website."

They glanced down at the photos, professional-looking publicity shots, portraying Irene as sexy and glamorous in various poses and leather outfits.

"Let me guess," Leena began, "She has incriminating photos of someone, probably a royal, possibly sexual in nature?"

"You're very quick, Miss Jerrard," Harry shifted.

"It's hardly a difficult deduction," Sherlock rolled his eyes, even _John_ had probably worked it out, "Photographs of whom?"

"A person of significance to my employer. We'd prefer not to say any more at this time."

Sherlock glared at not getting the information requested.

"You can't tell us anything?" John frowned, moving to take a sip of his tea.

"I can tell you it's a young person," Mycroft began, "A young _female_ person."

"I'd wager I could find out who," Leena crossed her arms and leaned back. Mycroft scoffed and she raised an eyebrow at that, "Fine," she pulled out her phone, "I'll prove it then," she set it on the table as it rang, on speaker.

"Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid here," she smiled as Spencer picked up, "You've reached the Federal Bureau of In…"

"Hey Doctor," she called, cutting him off, using her playful nickname for the boy, he was quite the fan of Doctor Who apparently and, being a doctor himself, she'd taken to calling him that over her years at the BAU. She also knew she should cut him off quickly, Reid's phone answers tended to turn into a ramble.

"AJ?" Spencer called, she could practically hear him perk up.

"It's me," she nodded, even though he couldn't see. It was the team's own name for her, AJ, as they already had a JJ, so they took her middle name, "How's everything going there?"

"We're doing ok. We miss you. Your deductions really helped out a lot, though I did see that website you told me about, the 'Science of Deduction' and it has a lot of useful information and tactics. I'm thinking of trying to impliment some of them for our next case. But these last few cases without you were particularly difficult, we could have used your observations."

She laughed a little, "I have _plenty_ of experience in difficult."

"Right, how's Sherlock anyway?"

She started blushing as the men looked at her, clearing her throat, "He's fine. Listen, is Penny there?"

"Yeah, hold on, I'll transfer you."

"Thanks Doctor."

Spencer laughed before the phone call cut out and a woman, Penelope Garcia, answered, "BAU Garden of Technology and Information, Eve here."

"Penny, you're on speaker."

"Lizzie?" Garcia squealed, before adopting a posh British accent, "How are you my dear?"

Leena laughed, "_Speaker_ Penny, and I'm _in_ Britain right now…"

"Ah, right, sorry!" Garcia called to the others, dropping the accent, "How can I help you Liz?"

Sherlock frowned and looked at Leena, mouthing 'Liz?' to her.

'Queen Elizabeth,' she mouthed back, before turning to the phone, "I have a challenge for you."

"Ooh," Garcia clapped, "What is it?"

"Hack into British Intelligence for me?"

"Love it," she called, and they could hear keys tapping, "Give me...a...minute..."

Mycroft scoffed.

"And I'm in!" Garcia cheered, "What do you need?"

Mycroft began to choke on air.

"Anything there about a…Mycroft Holmes?" Leena smirked.

"Holmes? As in Sherly's brother?"

Leena flushed again as John laughed quietly, finding it immensely amusing that Leena had apparently told _everyone_ she worked with about Sherlock.

Sherlock could only smirk, reaching the same conclusion.

"Yes, his brother," she cleared her throat again, "Anything?"

"Hmmm…some orders for self-dieting DVDs, some credit card charges for McDonalds…ohhh," Garcia laughed, "Someone's cheating on his diet. Naughty boy."

"How about an Irene Adler, can you see her schedule for the past week? Any activity anywhere involving her?"

"Let's see…" there were more taps, "Yes. I can see money transactions to her bank account but no schedules though."

"Great, any of them match the money sent out from anyone associated with Buckingham Palace."

"There's one...2,000 pounds, two days ago, under the name…"

"Thank you!" Harry cut in, looking as scandalized as Mycroft was that their information was so easily accessed by an American.

Leena rolled her eyes, "Point proven I take it?" the men nodded, "Thanks Penny."

"No prob Liz," Garcia called, "Call me when you finish the case."

"Of course. Oh! Penny, if you could keep an eye out for any transactions that involve a Moriarty, that'd be great."

"Sure! Catch ya later."

"Bye Penny," she reached forward and ended the call, before leaning back on the sofa, crossing her arms, smug.

Sherlock smirking beside her, "So how many photographs are there of this _mystery_ client?"

"A considerable number, apparently," Mycroft shifted.

"Do Miss Adler and this young female person appear in these photographs together?"

"Yes, they do."

"Was Leena correct in assuming they are in a number of compromising scenarios?"

"An imaginative range, we are assured."

"John," Leena called, seeing John was still sitting there with his teacup half-raised, shocked to find the client was female, "You should put your cup down."

"Can you help us, Mr. Holmes?" Harry asked as John set his cup down on the table.

"How?" Sherlock asked.

"Will you take the case?"

"What case?" he scoffed, "Pay her, now and in full. As Miss Adler remarks in her masthead, 'Know when you are beaten.'"

"She doesn't _want_ anything," Mycroft called as Sherlock stood, "She got in touch, she informed us that the photographs existed, she indicated that she had no intention to use them to extort either money or favor."

Leena shook her head, "She's a power player then. She wants control."

Sherlock nodded, interested, "A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now that _is_ a dominatrix. Ooh," he smiled at Leena, "This is getting rather fun, isn't it?"

"Sherlock…" John began.

"Hmm," he turned and grabbed his coat, glancing at his brother, "Where is she?"

"Uh, in London currently," Mycroft answered, "She's staying…"

Sherlock just picked up his coat and started walking out, his hand in Leena's, "Text me the details. I'll be in touch by the end of the day."

The others got to their feet, Harry calling out, "Do you really think you'll have news by then?"

Sherlock paused and glanced back at them, "No, I think I'll have the photographs."

Leena shook her head, "Check your ego Sherwood."

Harry, though sighed, "One can only hope you're as good as you seem to think."

Sherlock seemed indignant that Harry would doubt him, he understood Leena's concern, she was well aware of times where he'd made such a promise and not been able to follow through, which irritated him and put him in a foul mood, she was trying to avoid that.

But this man was just being snide.

He glanced at him, deducing him, before glancing at his brother, "I'll need some equipment, of course."

Mycroft nodded, "Anything you require. I'll have it sent to…"

"Can I have a box of matches?" he asked Harry.

"I'm sorry?"

"Or your cigarette lighter. Either will do," he held out a hand for it.

"I don't smoke."

"No, I know _you_ don't, but your employer does," he smirked as the man reached into his pocket and handed him the lighter.

"We have kept a lot of people successfully in the dark about this little fact, Mr. Holmes."

"I'm not the Commonwealth," he replied, slipping the lighter into his pocket and turning away.

"And that's as modest as he gets," John sighed, following them out, "Pleasure to meet you."

"Laters!" Sherlock called back, mimicking Harry's accent, not pronouncing the T.

"Sorry about him!" Leena called back as well.

~8~

The trio was sitting in a taxi, on their way back to 221 Baker Street, "Ok, the smoking," John shook his head, "How_ did_ you know?"

Sherlock smiled and shook his head, "The evidence was right under your nose, John. As ever, you see but do not observe."

"Observe what?"

Leena reached into her pocket and pulled out the ashtray Sherlock had nicked.

"The ashtray," Sherlock smirked.

John laughed as Leena handed it over to Sherlock, who chuckled, putting it in his own coat, "And did you _see_ Mycroft's face?" the girl laughed, sending Sherlock into laughter as well, "Oh," she sighed, shaking her head, "This case...this'll be interesting."

Sherlock scoffed.

She rolled her eyes, "We had a similar case in the BAU. It was actually rather interesting..."

John frowned, "You had a case with a dominatrix?"

She shook her head, "A call girl, actually. But, unlike Miss Adler, she saw fit to _kill_ her clients instead of blackmail them."

"A...call girl?"

She nodded, "My team gave me a lot of teasing about that."

"Why?" Sherlock frowned.

"Apparently she and I looked quite a bit alike," she shrugged, "I didn't see it."

~8~

Leena had had quite the laugh at Sherlock when he'd tried on a number of outfits, trying to find a disguise that would get him into Irene Adler's home to steal back the photos. A particular one she'd taken a photo of and set as her background, him in a large yellow hi-vis jacket. In the end, he'd settled for his same clothes, except with a white collar as though he were a priest.

They had just arrived near Irene's street and had walked down it, when Sherlock had the brilliant idea to have John punch him in the face. Leena had been _highly_ amused at that, especially when, after refusing, Sherlock had punched John to get him to retaliate. She'd stood off to the side, of course, recording it on her phone to send to Lestrade, it was very entertaining to watch as John continued to attack Sherlock after the first blow, not at all happy with having gotten hit in the first place.

Now though, she was standing at Sherlock's side, holding his arm as though supporting him, as he rang the intercom of Irene's home, "Hello?" a woman called out.

Sherlock looked at the small camera affixed to it, wide eyed, flustered, anxious and fearful as he looked around, jittery, "Ooh! Um, sorry to disturb you. Um, I've just been attacked, um, and, um, I think they...they took my wallet and, um, and my phone. Um, please, could you help me?"

"I can phone the police if you want."

"Thank you," Sherlock sniffled, "Thank you! Could you, please?" he stepped back, stumbling, pretending to limp as Leena helped him, "Oh, would you...would you mind if we just waited here, just until they come? Thank you," he breathed, before turning to Leena as she dabbed at his cut cheek with a handkerchief, "Thank you so much…"

There was a buzz as the door opened, allowing them in, John rushing after them into the lavish foyer.

"Thank you," Sherlock glanced around, "Er, ooh!"

"You have a lovely home," Leena breathed, putting on an American accent, pretending to be a tourist who had stopped to help.

"I…I saw it all happen," John called, closing the door, "It's ok, I'm a doctor," the woman who had buzzed them in nodded, "Now, have you got a first aid kit?"

"In the kitchen," she nodded, before gesturing Sherlock towards a front room, "Please," she moved to take Leena's place, helping him.

"Oh!" Sherlock replied, tensing, not liking the change, "Thank you!"

"It's through there," the woman nodded to the side.

"Thank you," John nodded, taking Leena's arm and tugging her with him, knowing she'd be able to help him snoop in the limited time they had better than he could on his own.

The woman led Sherlock into another room, helping him to take off his coat and sit on a sofa in the elegant sitting room, before heading out to help the others with the first aid kit.

He looked around, stiffening when he heard footsteps, starting to dab at his cheek again.

"Hello," a woman called, "Sorry to hear that you've been hurt. I don't think Kate caught your name…"

"I'm so sorry," he spoke, in character, "I'm…" he turned and froze as none other than Irene Adler walked in, her hair elegantly done, completely naked, save for her heels.

"Oh," she gave him a small pout, "It's always hard to remember an alias when you've had a fright, isn't it?" she walked right over to him, half-kneeling on the sofa beside him as she reached out and pulled the white plastic of his collar away, "There now, we're _both_ defrocked…" she smiled at him, "Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

"Miss Adler, I presume," he responded, dropping his character.

She eyed him intently, straightening, "Look at those cheekbones. I could cut myself slapping that face. Would you like me to try?" she narrowed her eyes as she put the white collar into her mouth and bit it.

Sherlock just stared at her in confusion…

When John and Leena walked into the room, John with the kit and Leena with a bowl of water. They both stopped dead, taking in the scene before them.

Irene looked at them, the plastic still in her mouth.

John looked at Leena, "I've missed something, haven't I?"

Leena though, was unusually quiet.

Sherlock frowned, eyeing her closely. He didn't analyze or deduce her like he did others, but he _had _learned to tell when something was wrong, a surprising feat for a sociopath.

And something was certainly wrong now.

Leena was just eyeing Irene, shifting back and forth, uncomfortably, before dropping her eyes to the bowl of water.

Irene smirked, seemingly pleased with Leena's reaction, before pulling the collar away, "Please, sit down," she stepped back from Sherlock and over to a smaller armchair, not even noticing Sherlock's gaze not on her, but on Leena, "Oh, if you'd like some tea I can call the maid."

Sherlock glanced over at her, "We had some at the Palace."

"I know," she sat down and crossed her legs, folding her arms gracefully, hiding her more private parts.

"Clearly."

John watched as Sherlock and Irene eyed each other, each silently weighing up the other, "I had tea too, at the Palace, if anyone's interested," he called.

Sherlock frowned as he looked at Irene, unable to really deduce her due to her being bare. He narrowed his eyes, not liking that.

"D'you know the big problem with a disguise, Mr. Holmes?" Irene asked after a moment, smirking confidently at him, "However hard you try, it's always a self-portrait."

"You think I'm a vicar with a bleeding face?" he scoffed.

"No, I think you're damaged, delusional, and believe in a higher power. In your case, it's yourself," she smiled as Sherlock rolled his eyes and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, "Oh, and _somebody_ loves you. Why, if _I_ had to punch that face, I'd avoid your nose and teeth too," she glanced at John, who forced a laugh.

"Could you put something on, please?" John asked, "Er, anything at all," he glanced at the napkins and bandages he had in his hands, "A napkin?"

"Why? Are you feeling exposed?"

Sherlock stood, picking up his coat and holding it out to her, "I don't think John knows where to look."

Irene ignored him, eyeing John, before standing up and walking closer to him, the man desperately trying to keep eye contact and not look at her body.

Leena took that moment to step past Irene as she came closer, putting the bowl of water on the coffee table and heading to the window to keep a lookout.

"No, I think he knows _exactly_ where," Irene remarked, eyeing John, before turning to Sherlock, who had averted his gaze, watching Leena at the window. She sighed, "I'm not sure about _you_," she told him, taking the coat from him.

"If I wanted to look at naked women I'd borrow John's laptop," he replied, knowing Leena was quite modest.

"You _do_ borrow my laptop," John reminded him.

"I _confiscate_ it," he walked over to the fireplace opposite the sofa, his back to Irene, allowing himself to look at Leena out of the corner of his eye. She had crossed her arms, her right hand absently rubbing her right shoulder, and frowned.

Leena stared out the window, though still able to see the goings on in the room through the reflection in the glass.

Irene made her uncomfortable.

And she_ hated_ that.

She wasn't a vain woman in the slightest, having no problem wearing sweatpants and an old ratty shirt as well as a fancy dress. She hardly ever wore makeup or jewels, never worried about her weight, could gorge herself on popcorn and crisps without a care, but…to be confronted with someone like Irene, who was…for lack of a better word…flawless…made her think about her imperfections. She had a jagged scar across her back from when she and Spencer had been attacked by an unsub with a knife, she'd pushed him away and gotten slashed instead. She had a gunshot wound to her right shoulder, having gone after an unsub with Morgan and Rossi. And she had a few jagged cuts on her stomach from unsubs trying to throw broken bottles at her and the team. There was a portion of her left leg that had gotten burned badly by an arsonist once. She was by no means ashamed of her scars, they reminded her of a time she had taken one for her team, saved a child or another victim, but…she knew others wouldn't see the story behind the scars, just the ugliness of the scars themselves.

It made her self-conscious to be around women like Irene.

And she hated it because that _wasn't_ who she was.

"Well, never mind," Irene sighed, wrapping the coat around her, "We've got better things to talk about. Now tell me, I need to know," she moved to sit on the sofa, "How was it done?"

"What?" Sherlock glanced at her, not having been paying attention to what she was saying.

"The hiker with the bashed-in head," Irene remarked, taking off her shoes, "How was he killed?"

"That's not why I'm here," Sherlock replied.

"No, no, no, you're here for the photographs but that's_ never_ gonna happen, and since we're here just chatting anyway ..."

"That story's not been on the news yet," John frowned, confused, "How do you know about it?"

"If she's willing to blackmail the royal family," Leena called quietly, still looking out the window, "She must be willing to blackmail others for information. She has connections."

Sherlock turned to look at her, frowning, this was _not_ like her at all, she was never…_quiet_…not since she'd mastered English.

"Smart girl," Irene nodded, "I know one of the policemen. Well, I know what he _likes_."

"Oh," John sat on the sofa beside her, "And you like policemen?"

"I like detective stories, _and_ detectives. Brainy's the new sexy."

"Positionofthecar..." Sherlock said quickly, almost incoherently, which made Leena look back at him.

His intention.

But then he noticed John and Irene staring at him curiously and cleared his throat, "Er, the position of the car relative to the hiker at the time of the backfire," he glanced back at Leena to see her look down and out the window, and frowned.

Not his intention.

"That and the fact that the death blow was to the back of the head. That's all you need to know."

Leena sighed, resting her head against the cool window pane, she'd NEVER seen Sherlock get flustered around a woman, not like that, speaking that quickly…it seemed Irene was affecting more than just John.

"Ok," Irene leaned forward, "Tell me, how was he murdered?"

"He wasn't," Sherlock replied.

"You don't think it was murder?"

"I _know_ it wasn't."

"How?"

"The same way that I know the victim was an excellent sportsman recently returned from foreign travel and that the photographs I'm looking for are in this room."

"Ok, but how?"

He smirked, "So they _are_ in this room," he glanced at Leena to see her starting to smile.

His intention again.

"Thank you. John, man the door. Let no one in," he called as John moved to watch the door, closing it behind him, Irene watching him go, suspicious, "Two men alone in the countryside several yards apart, and one car," Sherlock started to pace, distracting Irene.

"Oh," she blinked and looked over, "I…I thought you were looking for the photos now."

Leena started to smile more, however much Irene might be affecting Sherlock, she would _never_ be able to keep up with him like _she_ could.

"No, no. Looking takes ages. I'm just going to find them but you're moderately clever and we've got a moment, so let's pass the time," he stopped and turned to look at her, though his angle let him see Leena as well, "Two men, a car, and nobody else. The driver's trying to fix his engine. Getting nowhere. And the hiker's taking a moment, looking at the sky. Watching the birds? Any moment now, something's gonna happen. What?"

"The hiker's going to die."

"No, that's the _result_," Leena called.

"What's going to _happen_?" Sherlock asked.

"I don't understand," Irene shook her head, making Leena smirk.

"Oh, well, try to," Sherlock challenged, smiling now that Leena seemed in better spirits.

"Why?"

"Because you cater to the whims of the pathetic and take your clothes off to make an impression. Stop boring me and _think_. It's the new sexy," he glanced at Leena, catching her eye, "It's always been the new sexy."

Leena blinked and started to smile, "The car's going to backfire," she said, nodding, as Irene looked between the two of them, frowning at how Sherlock's attention had shifted, "Which means there's going to be a loud noise."

"So, what?" Irene crossed her arms.

"Oh, noises are important," Sherlock smiled, holding Leena's gaze, "Noises can tell you everything."

"Noises can cover things up as well as…" Leena turned, as the fire alarm began to blare, both of them watching Irene's gaze turn to the large mirror over the fireplace, "_Expose_ them."

"Thank you," Sherlock nodded, "On hearing a smoke alarm, a mother would look towards her child. Amazing how fire exposes our priorities," he walked over to the fireplace and found a switch under the mantel, pressing it to slide the mirror upwards, revealing a safe, "_Really_ hope you don't have a baby in here," Sherlock remarked as Irene stood, "Alright, John," he called, "You can turn it off now," but it still kept going, "I said you can turn it _off_ now."

"Give me a minute!" John called back.

A moment later the alarm shut off.

Sherlock turned to the number pad on the front of the safe, eyeing it, "Hmm. Should always use gloves with these things, you know. Heaviest oil deposit's always on the first key used, that's quite clearly the 3, but after that the sequence is almost impossible to read," he glanced at Irene, noticing that Leena had frowned and was heading towards the door to see what was taking John, "I'd say, from the make, that it's a 6-digit code. Can't be your birthday, no disrespect but _clearly_ you were born in the eighties, the eight's barely used, so..."

"I'd tell you the code right now but you know what?" Irene smirked, "I already have," Sherlock turned to her, frowning, "_Think_."

Suddenly the door burst open and a man strode through, grabbing Leena around the neck and pulling her towards him as he aimed a pistol at Sherlock, "Hands behind your head," he ordered, his American accent clear, before turning the pistol on Irene too, "On the floor. Keep it still."

A second man moved to Irene and grabbed her as a third man entered with John, "Sorry, Sherlock," John called.

"Ms. Adler, on the floor," the leader called as Sherlock started to raise his hands, his gaze on Leena.

Irene was shoved to the floor along with John, the men holding their guns to the backs of their heads.

"Don't you want us on the floor too?" Sherlock asked as the man kept Leena standing.

"No, sir, I want you to open the safe."

"American," Sherlock noted his accent, "Interesting. Why would _you_ care?"

"Sir, the safe, _now_, please."

"I don't know the code."

"We've been listening. She said she told you."

"Well, if you'd been _listening_, you'd know she _didn't_."

"I'm assuming I missed something. From your reputation, I'm assuming you _didn't_, Mr. Holmes."

"For God's sake," John rolled his eyes before jerking his head towards Irene, "_She's_ the one who knows the code. Ask her."

"Yes, sir. She also knows the code that automatically calls the police and sets off the burglar alarm. I've learned not to trust this woman."

"Mr. Holmes doesn't…" Irene began.

"Shut up, all of you," the man cut in, "One more word out of any of you, just one," he turned the gun on Leena, holding it to the side of her head, making Sherlock tense, "And I will decorate that wall with the insides of her head. That, for me, will not be a hardship to get what I want."

Sherlock glared at him.

"Mr. Archer. At the count of three, shoot Dr. Watson."

"What?" John gaped.

"I don't have the code," Sherlock insisted as John frowned, feeling the gun being pressed against his head.

"One," the man began to count down.

"I _don't_ know the code!"

"Two."

"She didn't _tell _me," he glared, starting to shout, "I don't know it!"

"I'm prepared to believe you any second now," the man remarked, watching as Sherlock glanced at Irene, "Three."

"No, stop!" he shouted.

The man held up his hand to stop Archer, waiting as Sherlock worked it out. But Sherlock wasn't looking at the safe or Irene any longer, he was watching Leena, who, for someone with a gun to her head, seemed remarkably calm. His lips pursed as he stared at her, tense, even a bit confused as to why she wasn't afraid for clearly she wasn't. She just caught his eye and gave him a smile, 'I trust you,' her expression said it all as she offered him a small smile.

Still, she _was_ being held rather tightly, he could tell she was feeling a sort of discomfort by the way she kept twitching and shifting in the man's hold. But she was otherwise calm, not shaking, not panting, the steady rise and fall of her shoulders alerted him to that. And then he noticed…her shoulders…her outfit…

He glanced back at Irene who was looking pointedly down and grinned. He slowly turned to the safe and eyed the keypad, the men watching him. He hit a number and another, hesitating a moment before adding two more, then hesitating again, glancing at Irene before adding one more pair. And then the safe beeped loudly and unlocked, making him sigh and close his eyes a moment.

Irene just smirked satisfactorily.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes," the man called, tightening his grip on Leena, "Open it, please."

Sherlock reached out and moved to unlock it, glancing at Leena a moment when he saw her move out of the corner of his eye. She'd been eyeing Irene, who seemed far too pleased that Sherlock had cracked the safe for comfort. That could only mean one thing in her mind.

She caught Sherlock's gaze, 'Trap,' she indicated with a nod of her head at Irene.

He smirked, "Vatican cameos!" he shouted before pulling the safe open as John threw himself at the floor. Sherlock hit the deck as well moments before a tripwire attached to a gun inside the safe was triggered and fired at the men standing behind John and Irene.

Using the distraction, Leena threw her head back, head butting the man holding her and twisting to grab his arm, hurling him over her shoulder, managing to get the gun out of his hand and hold it on him, not that he was moving, he was too stunned and winded, "Thank you Morgan," she muttered to herself, recalling how he'd shown her some moves to protect herself with, like that clothesline that had taken down Shan.

The other woman in the room wasn't idle either, turning on her knees before her captive, who had only been shot in the arm, and elbowing him in the groin, before leaping to her feet and punching him across the face, sending him down, grabbing his gun to aim at him as soon as he hit the floor.

Leena kept her eye on Irene as Sherlock turned and pulled the contents of the safe, a phone, out and into his pocket.

"He's dead," John called from checking on Archer.

"Thank you," Irene added, glancing at Sherlock, "You were very observant."

"Observant?" John frowned.

"I'm flattered."

That made Leena frown as well, not sure what the woman was talking about.

"Don't be," Sherlock scoffed.

"Flattered?" John shook his head.

"We don't really have the time," Leena shook her head from her thoughts, "There's probably more men coming, watching the building."

Sherlock nodded and held out a hand, waiting till Leena handed the gun over before he hurried outside, Leena watching as Irene moved to check her safe.

Leena moved to the window, watching as Sherlock ran outside and fired into the air to draw the attention of the nearest police officer.

"Oh Sherwood," she muttered, shaking her head. She watched as Sherlock told John to do something, the man jogging off into the house as he returned to the room, tossing the contents of the safe in his hand, grinning, "Well, that's the knighthood in the bag."

"Ah," Irene turned, "And that's mine," she walked over to him, holding out her hand for her phone.

He grinned smugly and switched on the phone, looking at the security lock, needing 4 figures to activate. It read 'I AM' above the four letters with 'LOCKED' below them.

"All the photographs are on here, I presume," he eyed Irene.

"I have copies, of course."

"No you don't. You'll have permanently disabled any kind of uplink or connection. Unless the contents of this phone are provably unique, you wouldn't be able to sell them."

"Who said I'm selling?" she countered, lowering her hand.

"Why else would the Americans get involved?" Leena remarked, "Whatever it is, it isn't _just_ pictures."

"That camera phone is my life, Mr. Holmes," Irene turned back to him, "I'd die before I let you take it," she stepped closer again, holding out her hand, Leena frowned, tensing, "It's my protection."

"Sherlock!" John called in the distance.

Sherlock simply put the phone back in his pocket and looked at Irene pointedly, "It _was._"

He turned and headed out of the room, Irene jogging after him, Leena giving one more look out the window at the distant lights of the police cars before following.

"Must have come in this way," John was saying as she entered a bedroom to see the woman who had let them in, Kate, lying on the floor, unconscious.

"Clearly," Sherlock remarked, heading into the bathroom to look out the window.

"It's alright," John said, seeing Irene eyeing the girl worriedly, "She's just out cold."

"Well, God knows she's used to that," Irene sighed, "There's a back door. Better check it, Dr. Watson."

John glanced at Sherlock, who nodded, "Leena, check the front door."

She nodded as well, getting up to follow John out, pausing in the doorway to watch as Irene moved closer to Sherlock again. She sighed, shaking her head and jogging down the steps to the front door, she opened it, looking out to see the police had arrived. She waved an arm out, signaling for them to come in…when she heard a thump upstairs.

"John!" she shouted, rushing up the stairs, hearing John running after her, both hearing the sound of someone being beaten.

They ran down the hall, bursting into the bedroom to see Irene heading for the bathroom, dropping a riding crop as she put her phone in her pocket, with Sherlock lying, struggling, on the floor, a syringe beside him, his face cut up from the crop, dazed.

"Sherlock!" Leena ran over to his side, kneeling beside him to check on him.

John glared at Irene, "What are you doing?"

"He'll sleep for a few hours," Irene waved him off, moving to sit on the windowsill of the bathroom, putting her feet up on the tub, "Make sure he doesn't choke on his own vomit. It makes for a very unattractive corpse," she reached out and grabbed a cord hanging from the ledge.

"What's this?" Leena picked up the syringe, standing as John took her place, "What have you given him?"

"Sherlock!" John shook him a bit.

"He'll be _fine_," Irene rolled her eyes, "I've used it on loads of my friends."

"Sherlock, can you hear me?" John tried to get through to him.

Irene smirked as she eyed Leena, "You know, I was wrong about him. He _did_ know where to look."

"For what?" she shook her head, "What are you talking about?"

"The key code to my safe."

"What was it?"

She smirked at Sherlock, who was barely conscious and trying hard to remain awake, "Shall I tell them?" she asked, a smug quality in her voice, "My _measurements_," she laughed, pushing out the window backwards in her escape.

John ran over to the window as Leena moved back to Sherlock's side, trying to keep him awake…

~8~

"You know," Leena murmured as she sat up in Sherlock's bed, the man having fallen unconscious, his head resting in her lap as he dozed, curled up on his side, her hand absently stroking his hair, "I finally figured it out. Took a while, but I did," she glanced down at him sadly, concerned, "Figures you'd sleep through it, but oh well," she sighed, "The car backfired, which made the hiker turn to look away from the boomerang he'd been throwing around, the one that ended up in the stream. It hit him in the back of the head and when Phil looked over, the hiker was dead. Well done Locksley, you got that from a glance. I have to agree with Irene there, definitely sexy."

Suddenly Sherlock jerked awake, "What? Leena? John?" he shook his head, "John!" he shouted.

"John!" Leena called as Sherlock threw off his sheet and knelt on the bed...only to lose his balance and roll off the foot of it onto the floor.

"You two ok?" John asked as he entered to see Leena helping Sherlock up.

"How did I get here?" he demanded.

"Well, I don't suppose you remember much. You weren't making a lot of sense. Oh, I should warn you…I think Lestrade filmed you on his phone."

"Yes, he did," Leena nodded.

"Where is she?" Sherlock stumbled.

"Where's who?" John frowned.

"The woman. That woman."

"What woman?"

Sherlock stumbled more as he tried to step towards John, Leena catching him, "_The_ woman. The _Woman_ woman!"

"What, Irene Adler? She got away. No one saw her."

Sherlock stumbled out of Leena's arms and over to the window where he could have _sworn_ she'd entered from.

"Sherwood," Leena called, he must have been dreaming, "She wasn't here, I've been with you this whole time.

Sherlock turned around, only to fall to the ground from the force of it and try to drag himself across the floor.

John looked at Leena, almost able to swear he could read her expression, 'You stubborn ass.'

He sighed, "No, no, no, no," he hauled Sherlock up and dropped him back down on the bed, face down, "Back to bed," he had to smile when Leena moved to cover him with the sheet again, "You'll be fine in the morning. Just sleep."

"Of course I'll be fine," he mumbled, his voice slurred and muffled, "I _am_ fine. I'm absolutely fine."

"Yes, you're great," John scoffed, "Now I'll be next door if you need me."

"Why would I need you?" he mumbled, burying his face into Leena's leg as she moved to sit on the edge of the bed again.

John had to laugh at that, "No reason at all," he turned to leave, moving to shut the door behind him.

Sherlock gripped Leena's thigh as he tried to snuggle more into her leg, making her laugh at how out of it he still was...

When suddenly there was an orgasmic female sigh.

Leena frowned as Sherlock rolled over, looking at his coat hanging on the back of the bedroom door. She sighed, getting up and walking over to it, she reached into the pocket and pulled out his phone, a text from someone with no contact name, but she knew, it was from Irene. She tossed the phone to him, biting back a laugh when he reached out to catch it but missed entirely, grabbing the phone off the bed where it had fallen.

"We found your coat outside her house," Leena explained as he looked back at the coat again.

He nodded, looking at the phone, reading the text.

_Till the next time, Mr. Holmes._

"What did she say?" she asked, crossing her arms uncomfortably.

Sherlock just stared at his phone a moment longer, fiddling on it, before huffing in annoyance and putting it on the bedside table, "Nothing," he remarked, flopping back on the bed.

Leena sighed quietly, glancing at the phone before getting up to take her place sitting beside him again.

~8~

The next morning would find Sherlock fully recovered, the three of them sitting at the table of the sitting room, the kitchen table full of experiments. John was eating breakfast while Leena sipped some tea, Sherlock reading a newspaper, all of them ignoring Mycroft standing nearby.

"The photographs are perfectly safe," Sherlock argued.

"In the hands of a fugitive sex worker!"

"She doesn't want it as _blackmail_," Leena explained, "She's using it as _protection_. Probably from..."

"How can we do _anything_ while she _has_ the photographs? Our hands are tied!"

"She'd applaud your choice of words," Sherlock remarked.

Leena rolled her eyes, about to speak, when an orgasmic female sigh sounded. She frowned, glancing at Sherlock as he stiffened.

John and Mycroft frowned, "What was that?" John asked.

"Text," Sherlock replied with a shrug.

"But what was that _noise_?"

Sherlock just got up and went to pick up his phone, frowning at the message.

_Good morning, Mr. Holmes._

Leena cleared her throat, "As I was saying, she's using it as protection against the other people after her," she eyed Mycroft, "A fact I'm surprised you missed, given that CIA-trained _killers_ came after her."

Sherlock moved back over to where he'd been sitting on the sofa, beside Leena, who was on the armrest.

"Yeah, _thanks_ for that, Mycroft," John added sarcastically.

"It's a disgrace," Mrs. Hudson commented, bringing in a plate of breakfast and setting it down before Sherlock, "Sending your little brother into danger like that. Family is all we have in the end, Mycroft Holmes."

"Oh, shut up, Mrs. Hudson," he snapped.

"MYCROFT!" the trio shouted at once, furious, glaring at him for how he'd acted towards the dear old lady.

Mycroft eyed their expressions a moment before cringing and looking at Mrs. Hudson, "Apologies," he offered, strained though it was.

Mrs. Hudson just smiled and nodded, "Thank you."

"Though do, in fact, shut up," Sherlock had to add, which earned him a playful smack on the arm from Leena.

And then his phone went off again.

"Ooh," Mrs. Hudson frowned at the tone, "It's a bit rude, that noise, isn't it?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the last message.

_Feeling better?_

"There's nothing you _can_ do and nothing she _will_ do as far as I can see," Sherlock looked at his brother.

"I can put maximum surveillance on her," he argued.

Leena held up her phone, "Or you could just follow her on Twitter. I believe her user name is 'TheWhipHand.'"

"Yes," Mycroft nearly sneered, "Most amusing," he sighed when his phone rang in his pocket, "'Scuse me," he called before pulling out his phone and heading into the hallway, "Hello..."

Sherlock watched him go suspiciously, when John turned to him, "Why does your phone make that noise?"

"What noise?" he asked, staring blankly at John.

"_That_ noise…the one it _just _made."

"It's a text alert," he shrugged, not seeing the problem, "It means I've got a text."

"Hmm. Your texts don't usually make _that_ noise."

"Well, somebody got hold of the phone and apparently, as a joke, personalized their text alert noise," Sherlock snapped, starting to grumble about the blasted noise.

"Hmm. So every time they text you..."

The phone went off again, the sighing filling the room.

"Apparently," Leena muttered.

"Could you turn that phone down a bit?" Mrs. Hudson asked, "At my time of life..."

_I'm fine since you didn't ask._

Was the next message.

Sherlock just put the phone down and went back to reading his paper, smirking when he saw Leena smile at the action out of the corner of his eye. He could tell that something about the phone and the texts upset her. The less he spent dealing with Irene the happier she seemed to be.

"I'm wondering who could have got hold of your phone, because it would have been in your coat, wouldn't it?" John wondered.

Sherlock just lifted the newspaper more, frowning now as Leena's smile had disappeared.

He hated when that happened.

It was one of the reasons he didn't deduce her when they'd been children. Most people stormed off after he analyzed them, frowning, and...he just...he hadn't wanted her to frown like that then, nor did he now.

"I'll leave you to your deductions," Sherlock muttered.

"I'm not stupid, you know," John smiled.

"Where _do_ you get that idea?"

"Bond Air is go," Mycroft finished, stepping back into the room, "That's decided. Check with the Coventry lot. Talk later," he hung up as Sherlock looked up at him.

"What _else_ does she have?" he asked his brother, Mycroft gave him a look.

Leena sighed, "Irene. The Americans wouldn't be interested in her just because she has a few compromising pictures, there has to be more to it."

"_Much_ more," Sherlock agreed, standing up to face Mycroft, who just looked at him, stone-faced, "Something big's coming, isn't it?"

"Irene Adler is no longer any concern of yours," Mycroft glared, "From now on you will stay _out_ of this."

Sherlock just looked him in the eye, defiantly, "Oh, _will_ I?"

Leena sighed, she_ hated _when Sherlock got like that, obsessed because he'd been told not to do something.

"Yes, Sherlock, you _will_," Mycroft nodded, watching as Sherlock just turned away, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a long and arduous apology to make to a very old friend."

"Do give her my love," Sherlock called, picking up his violin and playing 'God Save the Queen' as Mycroft left, Sherlock following him out, playing to annoy him.

Leena though, smiled at that. He was quite the musician. She couldn't play a note of anything without it coming out wrong, but that was why she stuck more to books and puzzles than anything.

~8~

Time had passed rather quickly for the trio, who had gone about their daily lives, solving crimes, doing experiments, blogging. It was Christmas now, the room decorated warmly in lights and garlands, courtesy of Leena and Mrs. Hudson. She knew Christmas wasn't a big thing in the Holmes household, neither boy having ever believed in Father Christmas, having deduced the truth about him. But Leena always insisted on celebrating it.

So Sherlock would go along with it to humor her. Which was why he was walking around the room, playing 'We Wish You a Merry Christmas' on the violin. Mrs. Hudson was sitting in a chair, a glass of wine in her hand, smiling at the tune, Leena sitting on the arm of the chair beside her. Lestrade had been invited by Leena, having rolled her eyes at Sherlock's grumbling and reminding him that, technically, she _did_ work for Scotland Yard, _with_ Lestrade, so he should be invited. John was wearing a Christmas jumper, his date wandering around somewhere. Now they just had to wait for Molly to arrive.

"Lovely!" Mrs. Hudson cheered as Sherlock finished with a flourish, making Leena clap and him smirk, "Sherlock, that was lovely!"

"Marvelous!" John agreed.

"Brilliant as always Sherwood," Leena smiled, getting up to give him a hug, the one time of year where she didn't care how Sherlock felt about affectionate displays, just too happy to worry.

"I wish you could have worn the antlers!" Mrs. Hudson added, thinking of the gift she'd gotten him. She'd been hoping that Leena might be able to convince him to wear them, she so often was able to get him to do things he didn't normally…like eat while on a case. But, alas, it seemed _that_ was beyond even_ her_ power.

"Some things are best left to the imagination, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock smiled at her.

John handed over a cup of tea to Mrs. Hudson, who had had quite a bit of wine already, "Mrs. H."

A rather lovely woman, John's date, walked over with a tray of mince pies and slices of cake, offering it to Sherlock and Leena.

"No thank you, Sarah," Sherlock waved her off.

"Jeanette," Leena whispered to him as the woman's face fell.

"Uh, no, no, no, no, no," John rushed over, "He's not good with names."

"Well you can hardly blame me," Sherlock countered stiffly, it really was useless information to keep in his Mind Palace, the names of women who never stuck around longer than a few weeks when it came to John, "Sarah was the doctor and then there was the one with the spots and then the one with the nose and then the boring teacher…" he trailed off as Jeanette, the boring teacher, glared at him.

"Oh Sherwood," Leena sighed, but shook her head fondly.

Sherlock offered her a smile, that was one thing truly refreshing about Leena, she never tried to change him or reprimand him for the things he said or did. She understood what he was like, who he was, and she let him be. She accepted him for who he was, every facet of his personality.

He turned to face her completely, his hand reaching into his pocket for her gift, when something by the door caught his eye, "Oh, dear Lord," he muttered, shaking his head.

Molly Hooper had just walked in, carrying two large bags of presents, "Hello, everyone. Sorry, hello. Er, it said on the door just to come up…"

Everyone greeted her warmly, cheerfully…save Sherlock who rolled his eyes, "Oh, everybody's saying hullo to each other. How wonderful."

Molly glanced at Sherlock nervously and began to take off her coat and scarf, John moving to help, "Let me, er...holy Mary!"

Lestrade gaped at Molly, who was wearing a very attractive, tight black dress, "Wow!"

"Having a Christmas drinkies, then?" Molly asked, seeing wine back in Mrs. Hudson's hand.

Sherlock just sat down at a table, "No stopping them apparently," he grumbled. He didn't like alcohol, it dulled his mind, made thinking harder, foggier, he didn't like it. He prided himself on being sharp.

"It's the one day of the year where the boys _have_ to be nice to me, so it's almost worth it!" Mrs. Hudson cheered.

Molly giggled nervously, her gaze on Sherlock as he held out a hand silently to Leena, who rolled her eyes and gave him John's laptop, the man not even needing to speak for her to know what he wanted.

"Have a seat," John offered Molly a chair.

"John?" Sherlock called.

"Mmm?" John looked over, moving to see what Sherlock and Leena were looking at.

"The counter on your blog still says 1,895."

"Oh no!" John replied sarcastically, "Christmas is cancelled!"

Sherlock pointed to the sidebar that had a picture of him in the deerstalker hat, "And you've got a photograph of me wearing that hat!"

"People like the hat."

"No they don't. _What_ people?"

Leena smiled, leaning over to kiss his cheek, "Me people," she answered, earning a smile from him.

John shook his head at the two, honestly, they weren't quite as bad or awkward as he imagined they'd be. But then again, he'd only just met Sherlock, Leena had known him for decades, the two would, of course, have a close relationship, she'd know him better than John did. He had already seen that, while Sherlock wasn't entirely different around Leena, there was a fondness, a softness about how he treated her compared to others. There was an acceptance and humor on Leena's part in how she took what Sherlock said and did.

"How's the hip?" he looked up to see Molly speaking with Mrs. Hudson.

"Ooh, it's atrocious, but thanks for asking," Mrs. Hudson smiled.

"I've seen much worse, but then I do post-mortems," she winced as an awkward silence fell, "Oh, God. Sorry."

"Don't make jokes Molly," Sherlock called.

"No. Sorry," she smiled at Lestrade when he handed her a glass of wine, "Thank you. I wasn't expecting to see you. I thought you were gonna be in Dorset for Christmas."

"That's first thing in the morning. Me and the wife, we're back together. It's all sorted," he smiled in return.

"No," Sherlock replied, not looking up from the laptop, "She's sleeping with a P.E. teacher."

Lestrade's smile became quite fixed as Molly turned to John and Jeanette, trying to change the topic, "And John. I hear you're off to your sister's, is that right?"

"Yeah," he nodded.

"Sherlock was complaining," she quickly backtracked, seeing Sherlock raise an eyebrow at that, Leena laughing quietly beside him, "..._saying_."

"First time ever, she's cleaned up her act. She's off the booze."

"Nope," Sherlock countered.

John glared at him, "Shut up, Sherlock."

"Sherwood," Leena called softly, making him look at her, she shook her head. While she never tried to change him, she _did _offer him silent advice on when would be best to drop a subject, picking up the social cues he missed.

He nodded, turning to Molly instead, "I see you've got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you're serious about him,"

"Sorry, what?" Molly blinked.

"In fact, you're seeing him this very night and giving him a gift."

"Take a day off!" John groaned.

"Shut up and have a drink," Lestrade added, putting a glass before Sherlock.

"Oh, come on," Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Surely you've all seen the present at the top of the bag, perfectly wrapped with a bow. All the others are slapdash at best," he looked at Leena for assistance, but she was frowning curiously, eyeing Molly.

She could read people fairly well, given the small lessons he'd given her on deducing, but she was better at looking at a crime scene and deducing the criminal without meeting them. She was also better at reading men for some reason than women.

He stood, knowing she'd get it eventually, and walked over to Molly, looking at the other decently wrapped presents, "It's for someone special, then," he picked up the best-wrapped gift, "The shade of red echoes her lipstick, either an unconscious association or one that she's deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Hooper has _lurrrve_ on her mind. The fact that she's serious about him is clear from the fact she's giving him a gift at all…"

"Sherwood," Leena called, working it out…but working out exactly WHO Molly had been hoping to impress as well.

"That would suggest long-term hopes, however forlorn, and that she's seeing him tonight is evident from her makeup and what she's wearing," Sherlock continued, smiling smugly as he moved to look at the tag, "Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts…" and he trailed off, spotting that the gift was for _him_.

He glanced back at Leena who as smiling sadly, she'd tried to warn him.

"You always say such _horrible_ things," Molly said quietly, seemingly an inch away from tears at how he'd embarrassed her without realizing it, "_Every time_. Always. _Always._"

Sherlock, whose gaze was still on Leena, frowned. She just nodded towards Molly and he sighed, nodding to himself, before turning to the girl, "I am sorry. Forgive me?" he asked her, startling everyone else in the room with the apology, "Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper."

Molly started to smile when…

An orgasmic sigh echoed through the room.

Molly gasped in shock, "No! That wasn't...I...I didn't..."

"No, it was me," Sherlock countered.

Lestrade's eyes widened, "My God, _really_?!"

"What?!" Molly gaped.

"His _phone_," Leena corrected as he reached into his pocket to get the phone, which she frowned at. She knew who it was, and it bothered her that Sherlock was _still_ keeping in contact, even if it was one-sided with Irene Adler, she'd never seen him reply…but then again, he could just do that when she wasn't in the room and she wasn't the sort to snoop through someone else's phone.

"57?" John called.

"Sorry, what?" Sherlock looked over.

"57 of those texts," John explained, noticing Leena wince at the number, "The ones I've heard."

Sherlock eyed the message.

_Mantelpiece_

And walked over to it, "Thrilling that you've been counting," he remarked, picking up a small, blood-red wrapped, gift, "'Scuse me," he headed out of the room, towards his bedroom.

"What…what's up, Sherlock?" John called, moving after him.

"I said, excuse me."

"D'you ever reply?" John called after him, but Sherlock just walked into his room and shut the door.

Leena cleared her throat awkwardly, "Anyone want some more mix?" she asked, nodding at the semi-empty bowl of trail mix on the table, "I'll go get some…"

She got up and headed into the kitchen with the bowl, John frowning and following her, "You alright?" he asked, seeing her focusing a little too much on mixing the nuts and the miniature chocolates into the mix.

"Fine," she said quickly.

He sighed, "I may not be able to deduce people like you and Sherlock, but I CAN tell when you're lying you know."

She sighed, "No, I'm _not_ alright."

He nodded, "It's Irene, isn't it? Who's texting Sherlock?"

She nodded.

"Sorry," he offered, unknowing of what to say to that.

"It's alright."

He frowned, "No, it isn't. You're his...girlfriend," however strange a title that was to associate with Sherlock Holmes, "You have every right to be upset about that. He shouldn't be contacting a woman like Irene Adler."

She sighed, "It's alright because I trust him John."

"How can you?" he asked quietly, he knew Sherlock cared for Leena, more than he let on, but he was a man and Irene was...Irene.

"Because I _have _to trust him."

"Why?"

"Because if I don't," she swallowed hard, setting her hands on the edge of the sink, bracing herself against it, "I'll break into a thousand pieces, and then what would I become to him? His next puzzle to solve, the next game to play. And the day I become _that_, will be the day I _truly_ lose him," she turned to face him, "It's _always_ been Sherlock for me John, ever since I _met_ him, I'd married myself off to him in my head, there's no one else for me but him. IF he chose Irene...I'd leave, go back to the BAU. I've always tried to support him, to be understanding when no one else was, telling him he didn't have to follow Mycroft into the government and that he could be a detective, to play the violin and not the piano, ask for the skull for his birthday and not the potted plant..." she shook her head, "I'd leave because he deserves happiness."

"So do _you_," John pointed out, when the sound of a door opening reached them. They looked over to see Sherlock step out of the bedroom, his face blank, "You ok?"

"Yes," Sherlock nodded, walking over to Leena and putting his arm around her, startling her a moment, he was rarely ever the one to initiate such contact around so many others, he'd barely gotten used to doing it around John.

Sherlock just gripped the phone in his pocket, the one Irene had sent to him, her phone, still locked. But he knew what it meant.

Soon...Irene would turn up...dead.

A/N: Lol, I hope Sherlock was believable in Buckingham Palace with Leena, my reasoning is, he'd do ANYTHING to make things difficult or embarassing for Mycroft, part of that old feud cropping up. This was a tricky episode to write out with Sherlock being in a relationship with another woman already, but we'll see more about it at the end of the next chapter where, I'm hoping, anything that seemed off here will make sense :) I also hope Leena's reasoning for trying to trust Sherlock was believable as well. She knows how he works, if she breaks, he would only see her as a puzzle to put together again and lose sight of who she is to him. But...trust, faith, that's a difficult thing to hold onto at times. Will she be able to? I guess we'll find out. But who loved the little shout outs to Spencer, Garcia, and Morgan. I could totally see Spencer reading the 'Science of Deduction' site and trying to use it :)

This chapter title...The Woman...well, it'll be a little clearer when you see the next chapter's title and read that chapter, but keep in mind inflection is everything :)

And...suprise! Christmas gift announcement! Keep an eye out because more posts will be popping up, such as...

A new chapter of Recollections.

A new chapter of The Adventures of Spaceman and Timegirl.

And! TWO drabbles for Sneak Peeks (the second to be posted in a few hours).

AND! A surprise Supernatural chapter tagged onto the end of 'Heaven!'

Gotta love Christmas :)

Happy Holidays!


	2. A Scandal in Belgravia - THE Woman

A Scandal in Belgravia: THE Woman

Leena stood at the window of 221B Baker Street later that same night, staring out at the streets below. Sherlock had disappeared when Mycroft came to collect him, Mycroft insisting she stay there, while Sherlock actually _agreed_. Apparently, they'd found a body that they believed to be Irene Adler's. And Mycroft needed _Sherlock_ to ID it. Molly and Lestrade having left with them.

She glanced back as John's phone rang, John putting it on speaker, "He's on his way," Mycroft reported, "Have you found anything?"

"No," John sighed, glancing at Leena, the girl knew better than anyone where to look for Sherlock's drugs, but there hadn't been anything of danger, "Did he take the cigarette?"

"Yes."

"Shit," John sighed, looking at Mrs. Hudson, "He's coming. Ten minutes."

"There's nothing in the bedroom," she assured them.

"Looks like he's clean," John turned back to Mycroft, ignoring Leena's scoff that_ of course _he'd be clean, "We've tried all the usual places. Are you _sure _tonight's a danger night?"

It was a thing Mycroft had once told him about, nights where Sherlock might be in danger of relapsing, turning to drugs again when things got too overwhelming or difficult...

"No," Mycroft replied, "But then I never am. You _have_ to stay with him, John."

"I've got plans..."

"No."

"Mycroft," John argued, but Mycroft had hung up. He looked over at Jeanette, "I am really sor..."

"Don't worry John," Leena cut in, "You go out, celebrate. _I'll _stay with Sherlock."

He looked up at her, wanting to take her up on it but not wanting to be rude, "You'd stay here and watch him mourn another woman?"

"Yes," she cut in again, "Trust me John, I have to."

He nodded, helping Jeanette up as they headed out with Mrs. Hudson, minutes before Sherlock walked through the door and paused in the room.

"Don't worry," she called, spotting him from where she'd moved to sit on the sofa, "I've reorganized your sock index just the way you like it," she gave him a small smile, "And I kept them away from your real stash."

He frowned, seeing the sadness in her smile, "Do you think it's a 'danger night' too?" he asked, knowing where his brother's mind had gone.

She laughed at that, "When do I _ever_ listen to _Mycroft_?"

He blinked, "You don't believe it?"

She got up, walking over to him, "I don't believe you need them," she explained, taking his hand, "You_ promised_ me. You've _never_ broken a promise to me before, not ever, and you never will."

He smiled softly, reaching out to push a strand of her free hanging hair behind her ear, cupping her cheek, allowing himself a moment of physical intimacy, "I promise I won't."

She closed her eyes, leaning into his hand a moment, "And…Mycroft's spies must not be quite up to par if they missed you being clean for _years_ now."

He gave a small laugh, taking her hand and pulling her into the bedroom, knowing that, while she believed he would be fine, the thought of him relapsing _did _scare her. And when she was scared, she cuddled with the nearest soft object, and he knew he'd rather be that object than let the quilt win.

As he stepped into the bedroom, Leena moved to sit on the bed, her back against the board, while he hesitated, pulling a small box, neatly wrapped from his pocket.

"What's that?" she asked, catching sight of it.

"Your present."

She blinked, frowning suspiciously, "You never give me a Christmas present, I always give you one."

He nodded, "I missed you," was his reasoning, he literally hadn't seen her in _four years_, "I wanted to give this to you out there, but our...friends..."

She nodded, he'd hurt Molly enough for one night, whatever it was must be something that would hurt her to see him giving another woman.

He handed her the gift and she quickly tore it open, for all her patience dealing with the Holmes brothers, she had very little when it came to gifts, "Oh Locksley..." she breathed, seeing a small locket, one she recognized as Mrs. Holmes', his mother's. She'd kept a picture of her boys on one side and _her_ on the other, claiming she was as good as her daughter with how much time she spent in their house and with the family, "Thank you."

"Open it," he insisted gently.

She popped it open and saw a picture of Sherlock on one side, but with an inscription on the other.

_Jackie Holmes_

And couldn't help but smile, lean forward, and kiss Sherlock Holmes, before pulling him onto the bed for her well deserved cuddle.

~8~

Leena sat on the sofa, a cup of tea in her hands, forgotten, long since gone cold, as she watched Sherlock stand by the window, playing a sad, mournful song on his violin. John walked into the room, taking a look between both of them before sighing. Irene's death had seemed to hit him and Sherlock had been moping for _days_ now. He could tell it was starting to upset Leena to see Sherlock openly mourning another woman, pretty much _the_ other woman he suspected.

He looked over as Mrs. Hudson entered, both of them noticing Sherlock hadn't eaten his breakfast, something Leena seemed to notice as well.

"I'm off to the park," she called, getting up and walking out, not even bothering with a jacket.

Sherlock stopped playing suddenly and looked over as the door shut, frowning. Leena only ever went to the park to think, when she was upset.

John shook his head and moved to grab his jacket as well, intent on going after her, seeing if she was alright, knowing Sherlock probably wouldn't think she was distressed about something.

"Lovely tune, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson commented, snapping the man from his thoughts, "Haven't heard that one before."

"You composing?" John asked absently, watching as Sherlock made a note on a music sheet.

"Helps me to think," he muttered, staring out the window as he saw Leena heading down the road, before playing the tune again.

"What are you thinking about?" John asked.

Sherlock frowned, seeing Leena wipe her face, near her eye before she stepped out of view, and spun around, pointing his bow at John's laptop, "The counter on your blog is still stuck at one 1,895."

"Yeah, it's faulty. Can't seem to fix it."

Sherlock just pulled out the phone Irene had sent for Christmas, her phone, "Faulty…or you've been hacked and it's a message!" he quickly typed in 1-8-9-5 on the 'I AM - LOCKED' screen, but the phone beeped warningly, telling him there were only 3 attempts remaining. He sighed, "Just faulty," before turning to resume the violin again.

"Right," John sighed, "Right. Well, I'm going out for a bit," Sherlock was quiet and he shook his head, heading out after Leena...

~8~

As it turned out, Leena was quiet good at giving the slip.

John lost her.

And his day had just gone down from there.

He'd been taken to see Irene, something he had not been pleased about. At first he'd thought it was Mycroft who had picked him up in a random car, so he'd started spouting on about how Sherlock was moping and sad, which he shouldn't have been since Leena was alive and well, but then he'd seen it was _Irene _waiting for him in a warehouse. He had NOT wanted to see her, truth be told, he was rather cross with the woman because she was the whole reason Leena and Sherlock's relationship was being strained so. But...he knew seeing her alive would get Sherlock back to how he'd been, not that he was sure that was the best thing to do...he could only imagine what the ramifications of that would mean for Leena to see him so happy that another woman was alive.

He had learned that, while Irene seemed to be flirting with Sherlock via the texts she sent, Sherlock himself had never replied, at all. And this was SHERLOCK he was talking about, he _always_ replied, always wanted the last word in everything. He could only hope that it meant he wasn't replying because he could see how much it hurt Leena just to _get _those texts...or that he wasn't interested because he had Leena. Either was fine for him. He'd come to care for Leena quite a lot in the past months. She reminded him almost of Harriet before the drink got involved, when they were children and close.

But then, Sherlock had appeared, having followed him to the warehouse Irene had him taken to.

Now the man knew the truth.

God only knew what would happen now...

~8~

Leena glared at the men standing in 221B Baker Street. She'd come back from wandering the park, just wanting to get away from that blasted phone Sherlock had been obsessing about and reminders of the woman it belonged to, only to walk in on men dragging Mrs. Hudson up the stairs, the same man who had led the attack on Irene's home was leading these men as well, both Sherlock and John seeming to be out at the moment. She'd tried to stop them, only to be dragged up herself, but she knew, as soon as Sherlock arrived he'd deduce what had happened by the broken lock on the front door, the two different scuff marks on the walls, the claw marks in the wallpaper, and he'd be after these men with no mercy.

She would enjoy it immensely.

As though hearing her thoughts, the door to the flat slowly opened and Sherlock stepped in. His gaze immediately caught hers, giving her a quick look to make sure she was alright. She nodded, still in the grip of one of the men holding her back, but jerked her head to the side where Mrs. Hudson was sitting on a chair, the main man holding a gun at her as she cried quietly.

_"_Oh, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson began to sob now, "Sherlock!"

"Don't snivel, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock remarked, "It'll do nothing to impede the flight of a bullet. Look at Leena, perfectly calm," he gestured over at her, and indeed she was calm…no, more like angry. He had to smirk at that, Leena hardly ever got scared, save for when she had been younger and had an irrational fear of the dark, but he'd helped her through that, deducing along the way. Now, instead of scared, she got angry, which was good, it kept her from freezing up in the dangerous situations they had often found themselves in over the years, "What a tender world that would be," he added, glancing at the main man.

"Oh, please, sorry, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson sniffled.

"I believe you have something that we want, Mr. Holmes," the man stated.

"Then why don't you ask for it?" he wondered, stepping closer to Mrs. Hudson, seeing she seemed more harmed than Leena did. He held out a hand to her, and Mrs. Hudson whimpered as he pushed her sleeve back to see the bruises on her arm from the men's grip.

"Sher..." she began.

"I've been asking this one," the man jerked his gun at Mrs. Hudson, "She doesn't seem to know anything. Thought I might start on that one," he nodded at Leena, making Sherlock look up and glare at him from where he'd been examining a tear on Mrs. Hudson's shoulder, "But you know what I'm asking for, don't you Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock narrowed his gaze, having looked back at Leena to see a small cut on her cheek. His gaze flickered back to the man, spotting a ring on his finger that had a trace of blood on it. His expression hardened, eyeing the man intently, not for deduction, but for attack points. The heart, eyes, head, lungs, ribs, all flew across his vision as he determined the best method of attack, of revenge.

"I believe I do," he nodded, standing.

"Oh, please, Sherlock…" Mrs. Hudson began.

"First," Sherlock ignored her, turning to the man, "Get rid of your boys."

"Why?" he frowned, distrustful.

"I dislike being outnumbered. It makes for too much stupid in the room."

He hesitated a moment before glancing at his men, "You two, go to the car."

"Then get into the car and drive away," Sherlock added, "Don't try to trick me. You know who I am. It doesn't work."

"Oh no," Leena called as one of the men released her, "Let me," she gestured at the door, opening it.

The men eyed her warily before heading for it, only for her to move behind them and kick them, sending them tumbling down the stairs. Try and hold HER hostage would they?

The leader frowned, but made no move to attack her, seeing his opportunity to get what he wanted from Sherlock.

"Next," Sherlock continued, pulling the man's attention back, "You can stop pointing that gun at me."

"So you can point a gun at me?"

"He doesn't carry guns," Leena called, moving to Mrs. Hudson's side.

"I'm unarmed," Sherlock agreed, stepping back to allow Leena closer.

"Mind if I check?" the man scoffed.

Sherlock smirked, holding out his arms, "Oh, I insist."

"Watch this," Leena whispered to Mrs. Hudson, smiling as they watched the man walk over to Sherlock and pat him down. Sherlock just standing there…till the man walked behind him and he rolled his eyes, reaching into his coat.

Before either woman could blink, he'd spun around and sprayed something into the man's eyes, before head butting him, hard, knocking him back onto the coffee table, unconscious.

He smirked triumphantly, and flipped the can of cleaning solution over in his hand, "Moron," he slammed the can onto a nearby table and quickly knelt beside Leena, checking on her and Mrs. Hudson.

"Oh, thank you," Mrs. Hudson wept.

"Shh," Leena rubbed her back, "You're alright, it's ok…" she turned to smile at Sherlock who just leaned forward and kissed her, resting his forehead to hers, his heart finally slowing down seeing her alive, well, and out of danger.

~8~

Leena, the knuckles on her right hand now thoroughly bruised, looked over from where she was sitting beside Mrs. Hudson on the sofa to see John walk in, "What's going on?"

Sherlock glanced up from the chair he was sitting on, holding a gun at the leader…who was sitting tied to another chair, his nose clearly broken, blood all over his face, duct tape on his mouth.

"Jeez," John breathed, catching sight of the man, "What the hell is happening?"

"Mrs. Hudson's been attacked by an American," Sherlock remarked, his phone to his ear, waiting for someone to pick up, "I'm restoring balance to the universe," he glanced at Leena, "How you managed to live among them for four years is beyond me."

She rolled her eyes playfully, "They're not ALL bad."

"Oh, Mrs. Hudson, my God," John rushed over to her side, "Are you alright? Jesus, what have they done to you?"

Mrs. Hudson just broke down into tears again, "Oh, I'm just being so silly."

"No, no," John pulled her close.

Sherlock stood up, holding the phone to his ear, "Downstairs," he called to John, "Take her downstairs and look after her."

John stood and began to lead her out, looking at the bruises on her wrist, "Alright, it's alright. I'll have a look at that."

"I'm fine, I'm fine…" she insisted, heading out.

"Are you gonna tell me what's going on?" John asked, pausing in the doorway.

"Of course," Leena nodded, moving to Sherlock's side, her arms crossed, glaring at the leader.

"Now go," Sherlock ordered, watching John leave before the phone picked up, "Lestrade. We've had a break in at Baker Street. Send your least irritating officers and an ambulance," he walked casually over to the coffee table and set the gun down, trusting Leena to keep an eye on the tied up man, "Oh, no, no, no, no, no, we're fine. No, it's the, uh, it's the _burglar_. He's got himself rather badly _injured_."

Leena smirked, seeing the man starting to get nervous.

"Oh, a few broken ribs, fractured skull…" he glanced over his shoulder at the man, "Suspected punctured lung. What happened?" he looked at Leena.

"Why, I believe he fell out of a window," she called.

He hung up, still eyeing the man, who shifted uncomfortably as the two people stared him down.

~8~

Later that night, Lestrade finally arrived at the scene, he, Sherlock, and Leena standing outside, watching the ambulance drive off with the CIA man.

"And exactly how many times _did_ he fall out the window?" Lestrade sighed.

"It's all a bit of a blur, Detective Inspector," Sherlock remarked casually, "I lost count."

Lestrade looked over at Leena for a more concrete answer, she could only shrugged, "I'm better at recalling the written word. I haven't a clue."

He shook his head, not bothering to comment and walked away, leaving the two to share a secretive smile.

Quite a few times would have been the correct answer.

Sherlock turned, his hand resting on the small of Leena's back to lead her back into the flat, into the kitchen where John was sitting with Mrs. Hudson, who still looked quite shaken.

"She'll have to sleep upstairs in our flat tonight," John commented, "We need to look after her."

"No," Mrs. Hudson shook her head.

"Of course, but she's fine," Sherlock agreed.

"No, she's not," John argued, not noticing Leena lean against the wall, crossing her arms with a small smirk, "Look at her. She's got to take some time away from Baker Street. She can go and stay with her sister. Doctor's orders."

"Don't be absurd," Sherlock took a bite of a mince pie he'd taken from the fridge.

"She's in shock, for God's sake, Leen…" he cut himself off when Sherlock glared at him in a deadly manner, "Jackie," he corrected quickly, "Tell him."

"She's fine John, really," she insisted, knowing just how strong and resilient the old woman was.

He rolled his eyes at being ganged up on and ignored, muttering to himself, "And all over some bloody stupid camera phone," he sighed and looked at Sherlock, "Where _is_ it, anyway?"

He grinned, "Safest place I know," he looked at Mrs. Hudson.

She gave a small smile, reaching into her top and pulling the phone out of her bra, handing it to Sherlock, "You left it in the pocket of your second-best dressing gown, you clot," she laughed.

"She snuck it out when they thought she was having a cry," Leena added, having seen it.

"Thank you," Sherlock tossed it in the air and put it in his pocket before looking at John, mock-disappointedly, "Shame on you, John Watson."

"Shame on _me_?!" he gaped.

"As though Mrs. Hudson would ever leave Baker Street," Leena laughed.

"England would fall!" Sherlock agreed sternly, putting a protective arm around the woman as she patted his hand, making John smile.

~8~

John was fixing himself a drink in the kitchen, heading into the sitting room as Sherlock took his coat off and helped Leena with hers as well.

"Where is it now?" John asked.

"Where no one will look," Sherlock smirked, moving over to the window, picking up his violin.

John turned a curious, suspicious eye on Leena.

"No," she said quickly, seeing it, "It is NOT in my bra."

John laughed at that, "Whatever's on that phone is more than just pictures," he reasoned.

"Yes, it is," Sherlock nodded, tinkering with the violin, tuning it as John watched, Leena moving to sit on the sofa.

John sighed, hating to bring it up with Leena there, but needing to know, "So, she's alive then. How are we feeling about that?"

Sherlock glanced out the window as Big Ben chimed in the New Year, "Happy New Year, John," he replied, not giving an answer, though able to see Leena stiffen and frown on the sofa.

"Do you think you'll be seeing her again?" John asked.

Sherlock ignored him, picking up his bow and playing 'Auld Langsyne.' John sighed and moved to sit in his armchair, glancing worriedly at Leena, who was looking down at the book in her lap absently. She glanced up when she caught sight of Sherlock pulling his phone out from the corner of her eye, watching as he sent a text before sighing and opening her book.

She was losing him, she could feel it...and now she didn't know how much longer she'd have him for. He'd never replied to the texts from what she'd seen, _never_, and she'd hoped it was because he didn't care...but she knew, he'd sent a text to Irene just then.

So what did _that_ mean?

Sherlock looked at the text, a simple, polite, Happy New Year, and then at Leena, hearing her sigh. He frowned, seeing her unhappy expression, not understanding why she was so sad on New Years.

~8~

Sherlock sat in the lab of St. Bart's, looking at an x-ray on the computer, the interior of the phone, when Molly came over to see him eyeing four small dark round areas in the x-ray before sighing.

"Is that a phone?" she asked.

"It's a camera phone," Sherlock remarked.

"And you're x-raying it?"

"Yes, I am."

"Whose phone is it?"

"A woman's."

"Your girlfriend?"

"No, another woman," he replied.

Molly's eyes widened at his unknowing admission that he did, in fact, have a girlfriend, or at least he considered someone his girlfriend. She sighed quietly, it was probably that Jackie girl. She had seen them on Christmas, how close they were, it _had_ to be her. She was nice. She supposed she had been a bit foolish to think Sherlock would ever care her the way she cared for him. It seemed that he'd had a woman in his life long before _she'd_ even _met_ him.

"You think she's my girlfriend because I'm x-raying her possessions?" Sherlock asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

She laughed nervously, still a bit hurt to learn he was officially taken, "Well, we all do silly things."

"Yes," he muttered, turning to glance at her, "They _do_, don't they? _Very_ silly," she looked confused as he just grabbed the phone from the x-ray machine, "She sent this to my address, and she loves to play games."

"She does?"

He quickly typed in 2-2-1-B, but the phone beeped, the attempts remaining dropping to 2. He sighed exasperatedly and sat down. He needed to crack the code, and he needed to do it _soon_.

~8~

Months had passed and Sherlock was starting to grow a bit concerned, which was not something that hit him often, but it was _Leena_…everything was different when it was Leena. She'd gotten quieter the past few months, a bit distant if that was the right word. She smiled less, she frowned every time that blasted tone sounded when he received a text, having actually gotten to the point where she left the room as soon as it sounded. It made no sense to him why she'd react so to a text message alert. He was actually debating asking John what was wrong with her, John being better at reading people's emotions than he was.

He admitted, sometimes, he _did_ need someone to explain something to him. And for Leena, he'd subject himself to feeling inferior if it meant being able to make her smile again.

He stepped into 221B Baker Street, pausing in the doorway as an odd scent hit him. It wasn't apples and roses, the smell he associated with Leena, but something else...and then he noticed two things, the window was wide open, and Leena was sitting on the sofa, hunched over, her head in her hands, even he could tell she was clearly _very _upset about something.

"Leena..." he began.

"You have a client Sherlock," she muttered quietly.

He frowned, she NEVER called him SherLOCK unless she was scared for him, beingincredibly fond, or if something was _wrong_, "What..."

"She's in your bedroom."

"Who's in whose bedroom?" John asked, stepping in behind Sherlock with some bags of groceries.

Sherlock frowned and strode down the hall, towards his room, throwing the door open to see Irene Adler, fully clothed, but asleep in his bed.

"Oh," John said quietly, spotting the same, having followed him.

Sherlock looked back at him, confused as to why John seemed upset and concerned about the _situation_, but _not_ about _Irene_, if the glance he sent back to Leena was anything to go by.

John, spotting Sherlock's confused look, just shook his head, he could only hope Sherlock would eventually burn the sheets of the bed he and Leena shared, the ones Irene was sleeping in.

~8~

A short while later would find Leena standing at the window, her arms crossed, staring out it blankly, something Sherlock knew she did when she was upset or trying to think deeply about something. He sat at the table, his gaze on her, though John, who was across from him, was eyeing Irene, who had changed into one of Sherlock's dressing gowns, something he'd noted distressed Leena.

"So who's after you?" Sherlock asked, knowing, just _knowing_, that Leena's countenance had something to do with Irene, just not knowing _what_. The sooner he got her out the sooner Leena would be happy again.

"People who want to kill me," Irene shrugged.

"Who's that?"

"Killers."

"It would help if you were a tiny bit more specific," John glared, crossing his arms, getting upset with how uncomfortable his whole thing was making Leena. He was certain he could safely say that he hated Irene Adler with a passion for hurting such a nice girl with her games.

"So you faked your own death in order to get ahead of them," Sherlock reasoned.

"It worked for a while," she agreed.

"Except you let John know that you were alive, and therefore me."

"I knew _you'd_ keep my secret."

"_You_ couldn't," he countered.

"But you _did_, didn't you?" she smirked, her gaze flickering to Leena as she saw the girl flinch at that fact, it was true, "Where's my camera phone?"

"It's not here," John scoffed, "We're not stupid."

"Then what have you done with it? If they've guessed you've got it, they'll be watching you."

"If they've been watching me, they'll know that I took a safety deposit box at a bank on the Strand a few months ago," Sherlock countered.

"I need it."

"Well, we can't just go and get it, can we?" John remarked, looking at Sherlock, inspiration hitting him, "Molly Hooper. She could collect it, take it to Bart's, then one of your homeless network could bring it here, leave it in the café, and one of the boys downstairs could bring it up the back..."

Sherlock just smiled, "Very good, John. Excellent plan, with _intelligent_ precautions."

"Thank you," John smirked.

"John," Leena called, and he looked over to see her holding up the phone.

"But you said..."

"I said it wasn't in my _bra_," she countered, tossing Sherlock the phone, "It was in my _pocket_."

"Oh, for..." he sighed, knowing that Sherlock had probably asked her to hold it, not realizing how much she detested the phone and the person who owned it, and she'd have done it, because he asked her to.

Oh Sherlock...

"So what do you keep on here," Sherlock wondered, "In general, I mean?"

"Pictures, information, anything I might find useful," Irene shrugged.

"What, for blackmail?" John frowned.

"For _protection_. I make my way in the world, I misbehave. I like to know people will be on my side exactly when I need them to be."

"So how do you acquire this information?" Sherlock waved the phone around.

"I told you," she smirked, "I misbehave."

"But you've acquired something that's more danger than protection. Do you know what it is?"

"Yes, but I don't understand it."

"I assumed," he smiled, knowing he'd gotten her to admit it, "Show me," she reached for the phone but he held it back, "The pass code."

She just held out her hand till he gave it to her. She activated it and turned so he couldn't see, before typing in four characters, the phone beeping warningly, making her frown, "It's not working."

He stood and quickly snatched the phone from her, "No, because it's a duplicate that I had made, into which you've just entered the numbers 1-0-5-8," he walked over to an armchair, taking out the camera phone, the real one, from under a cushion, "I assumed you'd choose something more specific than that but, um, thanks anyway," he quickly typed in 1-0-5-8 but the attempts just went down to 1.

"I _told_ you she'd realize it wasn't her phone," Leena sighed, having gone back to looking out the window, not seeming to want to look at Irene and Sherlock directly, choosing to watch their reflections instead.

"It's my life," Irene actually agreed with her, "I know when it's in my hand."

"Oh, you're rather good," Sherlock eyed the woman.

She smiled back, "You're not so bad," she smirked, seeing Leena close her eyes at that in the reflection. She held her hand out again and took the real phone back.

John frowned as they stared at each other for the next few seconds, "Hamish," he called, the first thing that popped into his head. He HAD to stop them staring, for Leena's sake, knowing she was watching the interaction but wouldn't say anything. They looked at him, "John Hamish Watson," he explained, starting to fumble, "Just if you were looking for baby names," he glared at Sherlock, who frowned in confusion at his subtle try to get him to stop.

"There was a man," Irene explained, "An MoD official. I knew what he liked," she turned, typing in the real code and bringing up a photo, "One of the things he liked was showing off. He told me this email was going to save the world. He didn't know it, but I photographed it," she handed the phone back to Sherlock, "He was a bit tied up at the time. It's a bit small on that screen, can you read it?"

Sherlock sat down and squinted at the photo.

007 Confirmed allocation  
4C12C45F13E13G60A60B61F34G34 J60D12H33K34K

"Yes," he nodded.

"A code, obviously," Irene sighed, "I had one of the best cryptographers in the country take a look at it, though he was mostly upside down as I recall. Couldn't figure it out," she watched as Sherlock leaned forward, focusing, "What can _you_ do, Mr. Holmes?" she smirked, leaning over his shoulder, "Go on," she whispered in his ear, "Impress a girl."

As she slowly began to lean in, Sherlock glanced up at Leena, who looked more upset than he'd ever seen her. As she blinked, he could see her eyes were shining, she was near tears...

And that wouldn't do...

Irene kissed his cheek as he blinked, "There's a margin for error but I'm pretty sure there's a 747 leaving Heathrow tomorrow at 6:30 in the evening for Baltimore," he spoke rapidly, his gaze on Leena as she turned to listen, his eyes locked on hers, "Apparently it's going to save the world. Not sure how that can be true but give me a moment, I've only been on the case for eight seconds," he glanced at John and Irene, who seemed lost, "Oh, come on. It's not _code_," and then Leena, who was giving him a small smile, "These are _seat _allocations on a passenger jet. Look…there's no letter 'I' because it can be mistaken for a '1,' no letters past 'K,' the width of the plane is the limit. The numbers always appear randomly and not in sequence but the letters have little runs of sequence all over the place, families and couples sitting together. Only a Jumbo is wide enough to need the letter 'K' or rows past 55, which is why there's always an upstairs. There's a row 13, which eliminates the more superstitious airlines. Then there's the style of the flight number, 0-0-7, that eliminates a few more, and assuming a British point of origin, which would be logical considering the original source of the information and assuming from the increased pressure on you lately that the crisis is imminent, the only flight that matches all the criteria and departs within the week is the 6:30 to Baltimore tomorrow evening from Heathrow Airport," he stood up and lowered the phone, smirking at Irene, "Please don't feel obliged to tell me that was remarkable or amazing. John's expressed the same thought in every possible variant available to the English language."

Irene just gazed at him intensely, "I would have you, right here, on this desk, until you begged for mercy twice."

He stared at her for a long moment, "John, please, can you check those flight schedules, see if I'm right?"

John blinked, "Uh huh. I'm on it, yeah," he cleared his throat and eyed Leena whose smile had disappeared into a frown as Sherlock didn't look away from Irene, before typing on his laptop.

"I've never begged for mercy in my life," Sherlock stated, his eyes narrowed.

"Twice," she repeated.

"Uh, yeah, you're right," John called, "Uh, flight double-oh-seven."

"What did you say?" Sherlock looked over.

"You're right."

"No, no, no, after that. What did you say after that?"

"00-7," Leena said quietly, swallowing hard, "Flight 00-7."

Sherlock frowned, not seeming to notice her volume as he muttered to himself, onto the next puzzle, "00-7, 00-7, 00-7, 00-7..." he shoved past Irene and began to pace, "...something...something connected to 00-7...what?"

Irene smirked, putting the phone behind her to send a text

_747 TOMORROW 6:30PM HEATHROW_

Sherlock moved to the fireplace, closing his eyes, thinking, "00-7, 00-7, what, what, something, _what_?"

"00-7," Leena said, helping by throwing out the first thing that came to mind like she always did, "James Bond."

Sherlock's eyes snapped open, recalling Mycroft on the phone, 'Bond Air is Go. Coventry.'

"Brilliant," he muttered.

"You figured it out?" Irene eyed him, wide eyed.

"Of course," he smirked, turning to look at her again.

"That desk is still open, Mr. Holmes," she smirked back.

Leena shook her head and just strode out of the room, unable to stand the flirting anymore.

Sherlock frowned, watching her go as Irene smirked triumphantly and waltzed back into the bedroom.

John shook his head, "You really _are_ a bloody _idiot_, aren't you?"

"I hardly think that," Sherlock scoffed, offended.

"I'm not talking about your intelligence Sherlock," John got up, "You care about Jackie, I can tell. You care about her more than anyone and this case...Irene...it's _killing_ her."

"She's fine," he waved him off, as soon as Irene was gone she'd be back to her old self, none of this quiet nonsense.

"You're a _blind_ idiot then," John continued, "You have no idea how hard it is to watch the person you love fall in love with someone else."

Sherlock scoffed, "You seem to think I love Irene."

"Because you're allowing her to manipulate you into _willingly_ doing _anything_ for her!" he shouted, "The_ only_ women you should do anything for are your mother, your sister, and your wife."

"Leena's not my wife."

"She's as good as," he moved to grab his coat, not wanting Leena to be alone right now, "You know, she told me there's no one else for her but you. And I can't even tell her the same is true for you," Sherlock opened his mouth to counter but John was on a roll, "Surely you, of all people, notice how _hurt _she gets every time your damned phone goes off, don't you? How she can't stand to be in the same room as_ her_?" he sneered, nodding towards the bedroom, "How she can't even _look _at you when you talk about her? Can't you see what Irene's _doing_ to you? She's making you _obsessed_ with her! Tell me, how long will it be before your focus shifts from Jackie to Irene? Before you value Irene more than Jackie?"

"Irene is a game," he called as John headed for the door.

John paused in the doorway, "Then be careful of how you play this _game_ otherwise you'll lose more than just a game in the end, you'll lose Jackie forever."

And with that, he left Sherlock to his thoughts.

~8~

Leena sighed as she headed up the stairs to 221B, John stopping in the kitchen to talk to Mrs. Hudson. She'd gone to the park, John finding her about ten minutes later, sitting on a swing set, and gave her the coat she'd left behind. She always did that when she was upset, forget things, her scarf, mittens, coat, all the time. The only time she was truly absent minded, when she was too upset to think. He'd sat beside her, not saying anything, but just offering his support. Eventually, when the sun had just started to set, she'd worked up enough nerve to return to 221B. It was funny, she could stare down the barrel of a gun, be calm when held hostage, even face down an assassin...but the thought of Irene Adler terrified her, more so the thought of Sherlock choosing someone else. But...it wasn't over yet, she doubted Irene had left yet, which meant there was more going on. She'd better head back to help Sherlock out when everything eventually fell apart. Then, once it was over, she'd figure out what to do.

She paused outside the doorway to the flat, which was open a crack, to hear Sherlock and Irene talking about 'dinner.' She could see Irene kneeling before Sherlock, her hand on his, his hand actually turned to hold hers as well. She swallowed hard, watching as Irene leaned forward, Sherlock's finger stroking her wrist when...

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson called, the two of them pulling away as Mrs. Hudson came up, "Oh, hello Jackie dear," she smiled before leading Plummer, the man who had brought them to the Palace, behind her, "Sherlock, this man was at the door. Is the bell still not working?" she glanced at Plummer as they entered the room, Sherlock's gaze immediately going to Leena, who looked away, "He shot it."

"Have you come to take us away _again_?" Sherlock nearly sneered.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes," he replied, glancing at Jackie, "You as well ma'am."

"Well, we decline."

Plummer just took an envelope from his pocket and handed it over, "I don't think you do."

Sherlock snatched it and opened it, seeing a Business Class boarding pass for Flyaway Airways with his name on it, flight number 007 to Baltimore for 18:30.

Sherlock grabbed his coat, heading out with Leena, leaving Irene in the flat, leaving John to watch her.

As soon as they were in the car with Plummer, Sherlock handed Leena the ticket to look at, frowning at how she'd sat farther away from him than right beside him, but shaking his head, turning to explain what he'd deduced to Plummer, "There's going to be a bomb on a passenger jet. The British and American governments know about it but, rather than expose the source of that information, they're going to let it happen. The plane will blow up. Coventry all over again. The wheel turns. _Nothing_ is _ever_ new."

Plummer was silent, till the car pulled up to Heathrow Airport, right up to a 747 Jumbo Jet parked on the tarmac. Sherlock and Leena got out, walking over to the steps up to the plane, the CIA man standing at the bottom.

"Well, you're lookin' all better," Sherlock mocked his American accent, "How ya feelin'?"

"Sherlock," Leena sighed, shaking her head.

He frowned, looking at her, _again _with the Sher_lock_.

"Like putting a bullet in your brain..." the man glared, "Sir," he stepped aside to let them up the steps, "They'd pin a medal on me if I did..."

"And I'd castrate you with a rusty spoon," Leena muttered, making Sherlock smirk.

"Sir," the man huffed, "Ma'am."

They continued up the steps, stepping inside to the passenger seating, walking in...only to see dead bodies sitting in the seats.

"The Coventry conundrum," Mycroft sighed, stepping in across from them from first class, Sherlock turned to look at him, "What do you think of my solution?" Sherlock was silent, just taking it in as Leena closed her eyes and sighed, realizing what had happened.

"The flight of the dead," she sighed.

"The plane blows up mid-air," Sherlock nodded, "Mission accomplished for the terrorists. Hundreds of casualties, but nobody dies."

"Neat, don't you think?" Mycroft asked as Sherlock smiled humorlessly, "You've been stumbling round the fringes of this one for ages, or were you too bored to notice the pattern?" Sherlock frowned, recalling the people who had come to him, complaining of the dead, not being able to see them, the ashes being wrong, "We ran a similar project with the Germans a while back, though I believe one of our passengers didn't make the flight," Sherlock frowned, thinking to the body in the boot of the car that Lestrade had taken them to, "But that's the deceased for you, late, in every sense of the word."

"How's the plane going to fly?" he asked, before realizing, "Of course, unmanned aircraft. Hardly new."

"It _doesn't_ fly. It will _never_ fly," Mycroft glared, "This _entire _project is cancelled. The terrorist cells have been informed that we _know_ about the bomb. We can't fool them now. We've lost _everything_. One _fragment _of _one_ email, and _months_ and _years_ of planning…finished."

"Your MoD man," he nodded.

"That's all it takes, one lonely, naïve man desperate to show off, and a woman clever enough to make him feel special."

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow, "Hmm. You should screen your defense people more carefully."

Leena shook her head, so sad, so…_disappointed_, "He's talking about YOU Sherlock."

He frowned, looking back at her, confused.

"The damsel in distress," Mycroft said softly, smiling ironically as Sherlock turned back to him, "In the end, are you _really _so obvious? Because this was textbook, the promise of love, the pain of loss, the joy of redemption, then give him a puzzle..." he sighed, his voice dropping to a whisper at how his brother had been fooled, "...and watch him dance."

Leena looked away, upset.

"Don't be absurd," Sherlock scoffed.

"Absurd?" Mycroft glared, "How quickly did you decipher that email for her? Was it the full minute, or were you _really __eager_ to impress?"

"I think it was less than five seconds," Irene spoke, appearing behind them.

Sherlock spun around to see her dressed beautifully, perfectly garbed and accessorized and styled.

"I drove you into her path," Mycroft mused ruefully, "I'm sorry," he lowered his gaze, "I didn't know."

Sherlock just stared as Irene walked closer, "Mr. Holmes, I think we need to talk."

"So do I," Sherlock narrowed his eyes, "There are a number of aspects I'm still not quite clear on."

Irene walked past him, smirking, "Not you, Junior. You're done now," she stepped up to Mycroft and activated her phone, holding it up for him to see, "There's more..._loads_ more. On this phone I've got secrets, pictures and scandals that could topple your whole world. You have _no idea_ how much havoc I can cause and exactly one way to stop me, unless you want to tell your masters that your biggest security leak is your own little brother."

Mycroft just sighed and looked away.

~8~

Mycroft sat at his dining room table, Irene opposite him, Sherlock in an armchair by the fire, half-turned away from them, his gaze on Leena as she stared out the window, standing before it.

"We have people who can get into this," Mycroft remarked, pointing at the phone lying between them on the table.

"I tested that theory for you," she smirked, "I let Sherlock Holmes try it for _six months_."

Leena sighed as she saw Sherlock's reflection close his eyes in brief pain at that fact. He had been trying SO hard to crack the code and he'd failed.

"Sherlock, dear," Irene called, "Tell him what you found when you x-rayed my camera phone."

"There are four additional units wired inside the casing," he stated flatly, "I suspect containing acid or a small amount of explosive," Mycroft lowered his head in despair, "Any attempt to open the casing will burn the hard drive."

"Explosive," Irene turned to Mycroft, "It's more me."

"Some data is always recoverable," Mycroft argued.

"Take that risk?"

"You have a pass code to open this. I deeply regret to say we have people who can extract it from you."

"Sherlock?" Irene called again.

"There will be _two_ pass codes," he muttered darkly, "One to open the phone, one to burn the drive. Even under duress you can't know which one she's given you and there will be no point in a second attempt."

She smirked back at Mycroft, "He's good, isn't he? I should have him on a leash, in fact, I _might_," she turned her gaze on Sherlock but he kept this back to her, his eyes on Leena.

"We destroy this, then," Mycroft tried, "_No one_ has the information."

"Fine. Good idea...unless there are lives of British citizens depending on the information you're about to burn."

"Are there?"

"Telling you would be playing fair. I'm not playing anymore," she reached into her bag and took out an envelope, sliding it to him, "A list of my requests and some ideas about my protection once they're granted," Mycroft unfolded it, "I'd say it wouldn't blow much of a hole in the wealth of the nation, but then I'd be lying," he raised an eyebrow, reading it, "I imagine you'd like to sleep on it."

"Thank you, yes."

"Too bad," she smiled as he looked up at her, "Off you pop and talk to people."

Mycroft sighed and sank in his chair, "You've been very...thorough. I wish our lot were half as good as you."

"I can't take all the credit. Had a bit of help," she smirked back at Sherlock, "Oh, Jim Moriarty sends his love."

Sherlock closed his eyes at that, he should have _known_ the man was behind the sudden introduction of Irene Adler into his life, "Yes, he's been in touch," he remarked, "Seems desperate for my attention...which I'm sure can be arranged."

Irene stood up and walked around the table, sitting on the edge by Mycroft, "I had all this stuff, never knew what to do with it. Thank God for the consultant criminal. Gave me a lot of advice about how to play the Holmes boys. D'you know what he calls you?" she laughed, "The Ice Man..." and glanced at Sherlock, "...and the Virgin. Didn't even ask for anything. I think he just likes to cause trouble. Now _that's_ my kind of man."

"And here you are, the dominatrix who brought a nation to its knees," Mycroft sneered, "Nicely played," he turned away, ready to give into her demands as she smiled in satisfaction, knowing she'd won...

Leena looked at Sherlock's reflection in the glass, seeing the devastated look on his face as he shut his eyes, realizing he'd basically sold out his nation and...worse yet...though he'd never admit it...disappointed his brother.

She sighed, despite everything, she couldn't let this happen, "No," she called.

She saw Irene blink as she and Mycroft turned to her, Sherlock looking up at her, a bit alarmed, "Sorry?" Irene frowned.

She turned around, "I said no," she repeated, "_Very_ close, but no," Mycroft and Sherlock exchanged a glance, confused, as she walked towards Irene, "You got carried away," she smiled ruefully at her, "The game was too elaborate. You were enjoying yourself too much…"

"No such thing as too much," Irene smirked.

She laughed bitterly, "Enjoying the thrill of the chase eh? That's fine. Craving the distraction of the game," she nodded in thought, "Sherlock can sympathize entirely, but it's not _that_, is it?" she looked at Irene closely, "It's the _sentiment_."

Irene's smirk started to fade, mirroring the confusion of the men, "Sentiment? What are you talking about?"

"You…and him."

Irene laughed, her smile returned, calm, "Oh dear God. You don't actually think I was interested in _him_?" she scoffed, nodding at Sherlock, "Why? Because he's the great Sherlock Holmes, the clever detective in the funny hat?"

Leena just shook her head, "No. Because…" she looked at her, showing a glimpse of how much she had learned from Sherlock in the 20+ years she'd known him, "Your face is flushing, means your pulse is elevated," she glanced up, "And your pupils are dilated…" she shook her head, "I _know _that look," she told her, leaning past her stunned expression to pick up the camera phone that had been lying on the table, "I've seen it enough times in my own reflection," she turned and walked a few paces away, towards the fireplace, the men's gaze following her though Irene literally did until she turned around, "When we all first met, you told Sherlock that disguise is always a self-portrait. And that was rather true of you, the combination to your safe being your measurements, but this..." she held up the phone, "_…__this_ is _far _more _intimate_," she turned the phone over in her hand and held up the 'I AM - LOCKED' screen, before turning it back to look at it, "This is your _heart_..." she punched in the first key, "And if I've seen in yours what I see in mine, then we've both the same thing there, don't we?" she hit the next key as Irene's face began to struggle to remain calm, panic setting into her eyes, "You _could_ have chosen any random number and walked away with everything you've worked for…" she punched the third key, "_…_but you just _couldn't _resist it, could you?" she smiled sadly, stepping back as Irene moved towards her and hit the last key, "Quite right too," she pressed the enter key, the faint beep of acceptance ringing out as she held the phone up for them to see.

I AM-SHER-LOCKED.

Irene shook her head, tears falling from her eyes as she saw her password broken.

Leena turned and held the phone to Mycroft, "There you go Mycroft," she said softly, "I hope the contents make up for any inconvenience Sherlock may have caused you tonight."

Mycroft grinned and stepped forward, "I'm certain they…" he trailed off, his pleased face pulling down into an almost worried frown as he looked at Leena, "Will…"

It was the look in her eyes, the_ tears_ in her eyes really, that gave him pause. He'd never seen her cry before, not even when he'd torn all the heads off her dolls when they were children and hidden them, leaving it for her and Sherlock to find them again. And he'd realized…she'd broken.

Leena nodded to him, stepping back, not giving a look to Irene or Sherlock as she walked towards the back of the room, to the door.

Sherlock stood and moved to follow her, "If you're feeling kind, lock her up, otherwise let her go. I doubt she'll survive long without her protection."

Irene stared at him, shocked, "Are you expecting me to beg?"

He stopped and turned to her, his voice flat, devoid, "Yes."

Irene swallowed hard, "Please."

He looked at her harshly, "I believe the agreement was _twice_."

She blinked, releasing more tears, "_Please_ Sherlock," he shook his head and moved to leave again, "You're right," she tried once more, "I won't even last six months," she was pleading now.

"That is not my problem," he told her, turning to stride over to them, "How does it feel to lose the game?"

Mycroft let out a scoff, "The two of you are even then."

Sherlock glared at him, only to see his brother glaring back, "I _didn't_ lose."

"Didn't you?" he raised an eyebrow, "You fell right into her trap."

"Did I?" he countered, "She played the game, and so did I."

"Is that so?"

Sherlock stared at his brother a moment before realizing what he was implying. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, "_Yes_, it _is_," he shook his head, looking hard at his brother, "And that you could _ever_ entertain the thought that it _wouldn't_ be Leena is maddening."

Mycroft returned the stare for a moment before shaking his head and clapping mockingly, startling him, "Congratulations little brother, I applaud you," his face twisted into a vicious sneer, "Not only did you manage to fool _me _with your little game, you managed to fool _her_ as well. Excellent form. Truly."

Sherlock's eyes widened a fraction as he spun around, realizing, for the first time, that Leena _wasn't_ there. He turned and grabbed his coat as he dashed out the back after her.

This time, he'd truly gone too far.

He made it out of the house and onto the street in time to see a back cab pull up before Leena and ran as quickly as he could, managing to slide in just before she went to shut the door. He looked at her but she just turned her head to look out the window. The cab pulled away and he was silent for a few moments.

"Leena…" he began.

"Don't," she cut in quickly, moving to clasp her hands before her, her head resting with the bridge of her nose pressed between her two extended pointer fingers as she inhaled quickly and breathed out slowly.

He swallowed hard, it was a position he knew very well.

It was a technique she had adopted when they were teenagers as a way to keep from crying.

"I…"

"Dohn't Sherlock."

He shut his mouth. Her accent was peeking through...this was worse than he thought, "You're upset."

She let out a scoff, "Dohn't ahnalyze me eizer."

"I'm not," he said quickly. She gave him a look that clearly said she didn't believe him, "You…you called me Sherlock," he muttered quickly, "You only do that when you're worried or being fond or angry. You're certainly not the first two. And your accent is…"

"Just stop," she whispered, closing her eyes.

"Leena I was just playing the…"

"Stop Sherlock."

"…game. You must know that I would never…"

"Sherlock stop eet!"

"Just _listen_!" he nearly pleaded, his pride be damned.

He couldn't lose her.

Not like this.

Not over Irene Adler.

She shook her head, "Stop ze car!" she called to the driver, who pulled over. She turned and angrily shoved the door open, slamming it shut before Sherlock could move to follow. She turned to the driver, handing him a note, "Keep going," and turned to walk away. The cab pulling away with Sherlock in the backseat, having made no move to follow. She was _far_ too upset to want to deal with him right now, even _he_ could see that, he would give her space, give her time to calm down before trying to explain himself.

Leena moved to the sidewalk, taking a few deep breaths as she tried desperately not to cry. She'd cried few times in her life, usually only when Sherlock was there to comfort her, he really was the only one she'd trusted to see her cry. He made her feel safe.

She'd never _ever_ thought the day would come where she would cry_ because_ of him.

She ran her hands through her hair a moment, before hugging herself against the chill and walking on. She'd only made it a block and a half when a black car pulled up alongside her, following her. She ignored it steadfastly, knowing Mycroft was in it, and continued. At least until she'd gotten to a corner and the car sped up, swerving in front of her and blocking her path. The door opened and she stared at it, debating how much she wanted to put up with another Holmes before sighing and getting in.

The car picked up again, driving on. She glanced out the window, knowing the driver had been instructed to take the long way back to Baker Street to give them time to talk. She glanced at Mycroft, who was just sitting there, watching her, his ever present umbrella settled across his lap.

She sighed, "Might as well get zis over with," she remarked to him, turning to face him more, "What do you want Mycroft?"

"To apologize," he said after a moment, "For my brother."

"Your life's work eet zeems."

"As yours is enabling him," he nodded. They were silent a moment more before Mycroft sighed, his expression softening, "You must know…I care about you quite a good deal Leena."

She looked up at him.

Sherlock had monopolized the use of that nickname, quite frankly throwing a temper tantrum whenever someone else, even jokingly, called her Leena when they were children. Mycroft rarely _ever _did so, according to him nicknames were too childish. He rarely ever called Sherlock 'Shirly' unless he was trying to goad him. He only ever called her Leena when he was _truly_ being sincere or concerned, and usually when Sherlock wasn't there to hear it.

"I do think of you as a younger sister…"

"I know," she said softly. She'd been around his family long enough where she'd come to look at him almost as an older brother as well, theirs was a complicated relationship.

He smiled a bit at her, seeing her calm down just a tad, "Mummy used to call you her future daughter when she'd had a bit too much sherry."

She smiled at that, the late Mrs. Holmes was a beautiful, remarkable, and VERY patient woman, one had to be when raising the Holmes brothers.

"You were the only woman who managed to put up with Shirly."

She shook her head at his extended use of nicknames in such a short span of time.

"Don't give up on him now," he continued as she turned to look at him, a frown growing on her face again, "While I do not always condone my brother's methods, we both know he has his reasons for doing things the way he does. Lord knows what they may be."

She sighed and looked back out the window, she _knew_ he had his reasons and she knew he'd tell her them, he _always_ did…

And that was what scared her.

She was terrified what his reasons were.

~8~

Leena quietly let herself into 221B Baker Street, sliding through the cracked open door so as not to alert the men inside that she was back, the door tended to creak something terrible when it opened too quickly or all the way. It had been _hours_ since they'd handed over Irene to Mycroft. She wasn't sure what to expect when she stepped in, who would be awake or not. It was why she'd stayed out as long as she had. Mycroft had offered her a guest room for the night but…she doubted Sherlock would have explained anything to John and the man at least deserved to know what had happened. She looked around and let out a breath, seeing neither man there and prayed that they were both asleep.

She glanced towards the door that led to Sherlock's room before swallowing the bile at the memory of the last person who had slept in his bed…the same bed he was most likely sleeping in now as the case was over. For all his love of the sofa, he preferred at least one night in his bed after a long case. And this one had taken months. She shook her head, taking a breath to calm down before walking over to the sofa. She almost sat on it, when she recalled how Sherlock had claimed that very sofa, how he used to lay on it or sleep on it…

She turned and moved to one of the armchairs, sitting on it sideways, her legs dangling over the edge as she curled up, hugging herself, her head in the corner of the backrest. She stared at the lights reflected in the window, watching as the rain streaked down patterns. She was soaking wet but she didn't care. She wasn't going to get her clothes, she'd have to enter Sherlock's room to do that…and she couldn't bear to see him right now.

It hurt too much.

She'd spent _hours _thinking of all the reasons he could possibly give her for his reactions and actions over the last few months. None of them she wanted to actually hear spoken out loud, spoken from his mouth.

She closed her eyes tightly, refusing to cry any more. She kept her eyes shut, trying her hardest to sleep and not think about Sherlock, as nearly impossible as that would be. She and Sherlock had been around each other little more than two decades. Not a day went by that they didn't have some sort of contact, she laughed bitterly at herself, not an hour went by it seemed that he didn't cross her mind.

She began to count in French in her mind, just for something to distract her enough to sleep. She must have been more exhausted, both physically and emotionally, than she thought she was, for only a few minutes later she had drifted off to sleep.

Exactly a minute later the door behind her creaked open and Sherlock stepped out, he'd heard the door open, but when Leena hadn't come into the room he'd grown concerned. He stopped short, seeing her curled up on John's armchair, asleep. He swallowed hard as his mind told him what this meant, she'd rather be uncomfortable as all hell on a tiny little chair than share his bed with him.

She was truly _that_ angry, that…_hurt_.

He sighed and turned to walk into his room, he reached out and grabbed a blanket off his newly changed bed before pausing and thinking better of it. His presence clearly upset her, he didn't want her dreams to be unsettling either and scent was often a remarkable trigger for memories. He walked back into the sitting room and over to a small cupboard, pulling out a spare blanket Mrs. Hudson had given them for Christmas, draping that over Leena instead.

He looked down at her, reaching out to push a strand of her damp hair behind her ears when his fingers lingered, tracing the red line down her cheek, the fading tear tracks.

He'd made her _cry_.

She'd cried before, of course she had, when Mycroft had mutilated her dolls when they were children. She'd gone to _him_ for comfort, even though he had no idea why she was so upset over stupid little plastic and glass pieces…it…made him feel…bad…to see her so upset. He'd gone to go confront his brother over it but had seen signs of many places he'd been on his clothes before rushing back to Leena and pulling her out of his room on a hunt for their heads. He'd found them all, for her. And the smile…that smile she'd given him when they'd gotten the last one…his childish 11-year-old mind doubted the sun was brighter.

He loved seeing that smile, doing things that made her smile. His skills at reading people, at figuring out mysteries, always made her smile. Her eyes would shine with this amazement, this…pride. He was always trying to solve things quicker when she was around, to be just as impressive to her now as he had been then.

But it seemed that was at an end. He'd solved this mystery…but not soon enough it seemed. She was unhappy, she was upset, she was not impressed at all.

What had he done_ wrong_? He'd solved mysteries that took longer than this one before and she always had that smile at the end. What had he done? His mind was boggled over that conundrum. Something that didn't happen often. He just…couldn't figure it out. It seemed he could never really ever figure her out, it was one of the reasons she was still interesting to him. He never analyzed her, never deduced her, ever.

He'd told John that it was because he wanted to challenge himself by interacting normally with at least one person. But that wasn't true at all. In reality…he didn't deduce or analyze her because she had smiled at him. When he'd cornered her in the library that day, she had _smiled_ at him. It was a different smile than he'd seen before, not tightlipped or tense of the adults, but playful and innocent, _happy_. Whenever he used his deductive skills on people their smiles vanished and they were either annoyed, angry, or hurt by his words. He…didn't want that to happen.

For _once_ in his life, he_ didn't_ want someone to have that expression afterwards. He didn't want to see that light leave her eyes or her face morph into a sad one. He didn't know why. He'd never had an issue with how people reacted to him before but…Leena was different. He'd promised himself then and there he wouldn't _ever_ use his skills on her.

Now he was regretting it. If he _had_, he was sure he'd have picked up _something_ about why she was so angry and hurt by all this.

He sighed, there would be no answers tonight. He was not about to wake her up just to have her talk. Unlike John, she tended to, as a reaction to being jostled awake, punch people who tried to wake her up. He leaned down and dropped a small kiss onto her head before eyeing her a moment longer, making sure she was warm before heading back to his room for the night, praying that tomorrow would be better.

~8~

Tomorrow was even worse.

He'd woken up to the sound of soft voices in the kitchen and scrambled to get his robe on when he realized one of the voices was Leena's, explaining to John what had happened. He'd entered the kitchen to see her and John speaking quietly, tea in hand. As soon as they saw him though, they quieted down. Leena looked away and put her tea down, muttering something about going to the park before dashing out of the flat before he could even open his mouth.

She could be mad fast when she wanted to.

John just shook his head at him, "What did you _do_?"

Sherlock looked over at him, honestly confused. He really _didn't_ know. He'd gone through _all_ the possibilities last night but _nothing_ made any sense. Nothing explained why she was so hurt though.

He just shook his head and walked back into his room, he'd wait till Leena came back and talk to her then.

~8~

He was ready to pull his hair out.

It had been a week and Leena had been nearly a ghost in the flat. He barely saw her and when he did, it was always as she was heading out the door to go to the park. He'd confiscated John's phone, checking his texts to see if he was telling Leena when he was sleeping or out so she could come back when he wasn't there or unaware. But there was nothing.

Lestrade had mentioned that Leena had predicted all his moves during the Banker case, perhaps _that_ was how she'd done it. But he wasn't _that_ predictable…was he?

He'd decided to stay up one night, pretend he'd gone to bed, to see if she would come in and he could confront her. He needed to talk to her, he needed answers. It was driving him mad trying to figure out why she was so cross, why she was avoiding him. He wanted to talk to her about the case, he knew it was what had set her off so perhaps there was something he needed to explain to her, but he wouldn't know what till he talked to her.

But she wasn't making it easy.

He'd waited all night, but she'd never come back. He was vaguely starting to worry as he was sure she still came to the flat the few times he slept. He'd decided enough was enough by the time the sun had started to peek through his windows. He stormed out of his room, tying his scarf around his neck as he held his mobile in one hand, ready to call his brother to help track her down, when he stopped short.

There was a small bit of parchment on the floor before the flat's door, clearly having been slid under it. He walked over, seeing his name written in Leena's distinctive handwriting on the back of it. He snatched it up and nearly tore it as he opened it, his eyes half-skimming the words in an attempt to read it quickly before he froze. His eyes widened as they returned to the top, actually _reading_ it this time, hoping he'd gotten the message wrong in his skims.

_Sherlock,_

_I came back because I missed you. And I realize now that the reverse was not necessarily true, or at least not in the sense I'd hoped it would be. I've spoken to Mycroft and he's sorted out my visa. I'm going back to America, my spot at the BAU is still open. I'm sorry._

_Jacqueline_

It was _wrong_. It was_ all_ wrong. There was no Locksley as she always wrote in their private letters, there was no AML before her name, she hadn't signed it Leena. He read it again, looking for their code, the one they'd devised as children, but it wasn't there.

She _meant_ it.

He dropped the paper and grabbed his coat, running out the door as he called his brother, "Mycroft!" he shouted, "I need…"

"It's the Half past 7," Mycroft cut in, "You'd best hurry."

He snapped the phone shut and raised a hand, jumping in the nearest cab.

~8~

Leena sat, staring at her carryon in the crowded airport, surprisingly full for so early in the morning. She'd learned to travel light after having packed so many go-bags over the years she'd spent in the BAU. She knew what she needed, what she didn't, and what she should have to stave off boredom. She'd never thought she'd be bringing it back to America, not so soon anyway, trips to visit would have been nice, see the team every so often…but not like this.

"Flight 409 boarding will begin in five minutes," a voice called over the speaker.

She sighed and started to get up, turning to grab the book she'd tried and failed to read as she waited, picking up her bag to place it on the seat, her suitcase on the floor beside her, as she opened it to put the book in.

Suddenly someone grabbed her arm and spun her around. She gasped, startled and nearly fell back into her bag at how close the person who'd grabbed her was. She let out a breath, seeing it was Sherlock, "What are you doing here?!"

"You can't go," he told her, his voice as authoritative as it always was, as though telling her that was the end of the discussion.

"Yes, I can," she argued, pulling her arm back, "And I am."

"You _can't_," he repeated as she turned back to her bag, "Not until we talk," she ignored him. He steeled himself, "_Please_."

She paused, he could see her tensing at that last word. He _never_ seemed to say 'please' to anyone but her, and _only_ when he _really_ and_ truly_ needed something.

She took a breath and turned around, "What?"

"Why are you mad at me?" he asked her, the question gnawing at him.

She gave him a look he'd come to learn meant she truly couldn't believe how much of an idiot he was being at the moment, "You cannot be serious Sherlock."

Sherlock. Still angry then.

"I am," he said, his face displaying_ exactly_ how serious he was, "I don't analyze you, I don't deduce you, I don't know."

She nodded to herself, "And you're a sociopath so you wouldn't have picked up on it anyway," she muttered, rubbing her head. She sighed, "You really have _no_ idea?"

"I…have a…partial…theory," he admitted.

"Which is?"

"It has something to do with Irene Adler."

She nearly snorted, "Sherlock, it has _everything_ to do with her."

He frowned, "What?"

She gave him the look again, "Think," she told him, turning to her bag, "You'll figure it out. I've given you more than enough clues."

He frowned, his mind racing as he tried to connect the dots he'd gathered. But they were_ so_ scattered, "Leena…"

"If you really _can't_ figure it out Sherlock, then this can't work between us."

His eyes widened as the dots connected in rapid succession with her last words, "OF COURSE!" he nearly shouted, but managed to refrain it to a hiss, "Leena…" she ignored him, "Leena," he reached out and turned her around, beaming ear-to-ear at her though she just looked miserably at him, "You've been spending too much time around those Americans."

She frowned, "What?"

"Did you _really_ think that _Irene Adler_, of _all _people…" he trailed off, shaking his head, actually laughing.

"Don't laugh at me Sherlock," she muttered, hurt.

His grin dropped, seeing the hurt in her eyes, "No, I…I meant…" he shook his head, trying to order his thoughts, "Why would I ever want HER?" he asked her, reaching out to cup her cheek, "When I have YOU?"

She frowned, confused, "But…she was…and you were…" he allowed himself a small smile, she was rarely ever this speechless. She glared at him, "You were getting texts from her with that horrid tone and…and being all mopey after you thought she died and composing sad songs and _obsessed_ with that phone of hers and cracking that code," her voice broke and he could see _just_ _how much_ this whole thing had affected her, "And the fireplace…"

"Leena," he whispered, cupping both her cheeks so she'd look at him, "Believe me, I would have _loved_ to stop her texts, but she hacked my phone and I couldn't delete that atrocious tone," now he could see why the tone was so offensive, it wasn't that it was an alert from Irene, but what the noise itself was, "The way I was able to delete her texts, which I did as soon as I got them. I didn't reply to her either because I honestly didn't care enough to do so. I knew the body in the morgue wasn't her," she opened her mouth and he waved his hand, "The measurements were all off," he explained quickly.

"Then why did you say it was her…"

"Because she made YOU unhappy," he said, as though it were obvious, "I thought, if I told you she had died, if there was proof she was gone, that you'd be happier."

"But the music…"

"I was composing for YOU," he laughed, "I was trying to write a song to make you happy…" he frowned, recalling what she'd said about it, "Was it really that sad sounding?"

She waved her hand, "Not important," she was touched.

He nodded a bit, he'd have to work on that later then, "As for her phone," he sighed, "I knew she'd be back for it, so I was trying to crack it before then. And, as you know, I was unsuccessful," he smiled at her, _so_ impressed, "You weren't."

"Yes, well," she cleared her throat, "Great minds think alike it seems."

He frowned, "How do you mean?"

She gave a little laugh that made him smile that she was feeling better, "You can't honestly say, after all this, you don't know what _my_ password is can you?" she held up her phone.

He took it, looking at the code for 4 spaces and smiled, typing in his birthday, the first thing that came to mind, and opening the phone. He laughed, handing it back as she blushed, "And the jet…" he looked at her intently, reaching out to stroke her cheek, "You were upset, I could see it, I…just wanted to cheer you up."

She blinked, her eyes wide in shock, "You…cracked the code…for ME?"

He nodded, "You must know I'm always trying to impress you," he admitted softly, "I've kept my skills sharp while you were in America so, when you came back, I could," he cleared his throat, embarrassed, "Wow you."

She blinked quite a few times, her heart racing at everything he was admitting to her. He must have _truly _been worried about this whole thing to admit so much to her, half the time she had to trick it out of him, "And…the fireplace…"

"I was taking her pulse," he told her, "I was hoping to ask some key questions and see if she was lying but you and Mrs. Hudson walked in…"

"I'm sorry," she whispered, looking down. She'd been so_ stupid_, thinking he'd had feelings for Irene, thinking the woman had taken him away from her. It seemed she was just ruining his plans…

"Don't be," he lifted her chin, "_Not ever_. I…_I'm_ sorry," he told her. It came so easily, expressing emotion to her, "I just…didn't notice. I thought my feelings were clear but…" he nodded to himself, "I can see now what it looked like to you, to everyone else," he remarked, thinking of John's words.

She shook her head, "There's blame to share I suppose," she admitted, "I should have trusted you more," she smiled at him, "Like I always do."

She _should_ have. All that time he wasn't affected by Irene at all, he was just trying to get information out of her like she had been trying to get information out of him.

He smiled, "I'll take those then," he plucked the tickets from her hand, frowning when he saw the destination _wasn't_ for America, but somewhere in the Middle East.

"I got a text from Irene," she remarked, "She needed help."

"You were going to _save_ her?" he frowned, not understanding. Her reaction to the woman, the _last_ thing she should have wanted to do was...

"I thought you loved her, I couldn't let her die."

He shifted the tickets, seeing there were two and nodded, she _hated_ flying, and tended to grab onto the person beside her, which irritated strangers, so she would buy the seat next to her as well. When she'd had to work for the BAU, she would sit beside that Spencer boy and discuss things with him, trying to distract her from the flight. Well, it wasn't really flying, it was the take off and landing that got to her.

"The tickets..." she began, pulling his attention away, "We should use them still."

"Why?"

She smiled, taking his hand, "I won _you_. To _lose_ you, is bad enough, I can't let her lose her life as well."

He eyed her, debating it...

~8~

Sherlock looked up from where he was examining something through a microscope, Leena beside him, taking dictation so he wouldn't have to look away, when John entered the room. John hesitated speaking, debating whether to tell them what Mycroft wished or what was true. Either that Irene had gone into witness protection in America, or that she'd been captured by a terrorist cell in Karachi and beheaded months ago. He knew Sherlock despised the woman, both he and Mycroft believing it was only Leena for him in the end, but still, they could tell he had a pinch of respect for the woman as good at trickery as her.

"Clearly you've got news," Sherlock called, "If it's about the Leeds triple murder, it was the gardener. Nobody noticed the earring."

"Hi. Er, no, it's, um..." he took a few steps in, but hesitated.

Leena looked up, "What's wrong John?"

He sighed, knowing it was a touchy subject but that they would _both_ need closure that this whole Irene thing was really, finally, over, that, either way, Irene would be out of their hair, "It's about Irene Adler."

Sherlock glanced up, "Oh?" he seemed disinterested, making Leena smile, because now she knew he really WAS disinterested, "Something happened?" and then he grew angry, "Has she come back?"

That was the _last _thing he wanted, for her to come back and disrupt him and Leena as she had before.

"No, she's, er..." John sighed, "I just bumped into Mycroft downstairs. He had to take a call."

Sherlock stood up and walked around the table towards John, glaring, "Is she back in London?"

"No. She's, er..." he glanced at Leena, who was eyeing him, concerned, and knew he had to say it, "She's in America," he answered, knowing Leena would hate to have the woman's death hang over her head, she had been the one to crack the code on the phone after all.

"America?" she frowned.

"Mhmm. Got herself on a witness protection scheme, apparently. Dunno how she swung it, but, er, well, you know."

"We know what?" Sherlock frowned.

He smiled, "You won't ever see her again."

Sherlock smirked, "Good, we don't want to see her again."

He nodded, "Didn't say you did."

"Is that her file?" Leena asked, seeing a packet in John's arms.

"Yes. I was just gonna take it back to Mycroft," he shrugged as Sherlock sat back down, "Do you want it?" he held out the packet but Sherlock just turned back to the microscope. He sighed and turned to head out.

"Oh, but we _will_ have the camera phone, though," he called, holding out his hand for it.

"There's nothing on it anymore. It's been stripped."

"I know," he just held out his hand.

"I've gotta give this back to Mycroft. You can't keep it," Sherlock just looked up at him, "Sherlock, I _have_ to give this to Mycroft. It's the government's now. I couldn't even give..."

"John," Sherlock extended his hand further. John sighed before handing it over, "Thank you," he smirked, turning back to the microscope, Leena eyeing him curiously.

"Well, I'd better take this back," John held up the packet.

"Yes," Sherlock nodded.

John headed off, pausing in the doorway, before turning, "Did she ever text you again, after...all that?"

"Once," Sherlock admitted, "A few months ago."

And it was long since gone, he'd deleted every text Irene had sent him, most were ridiculous requests for dinner, as soon as Leena had managed to get her hacker friend to remotely access his phone and break the settings Irene had set. The ghastly text alert sound and the texts were gone.

"What did she say?"

Leena smiled, "'Goodbye, Mr. Holmes.'"

"Huh," John remarked before heading out.

~8~

Sherlock stood at the window, thinking back to how he and Leena had flown out to the Middle East, saved Irene, and got her out, parting ways with her soon after, the woman actually apologizing for coming between them, claiming it had been a part of Moriarty's game.

"The Woman," he smiled a bit, thinking on that, "But not THE woman," he turned to see Leena standing behind him, "Care to do the honors?" he held out the phone to her.

She walked over, taking it and hitting a button, turning it off, before dropping it into the top drawer of a desk beside the window, "Thank you," she said softly to him. She moved to head back to the kitchen when Sherlock gently grabbed her arm, stopping her, he eyed her a moment until she gave him a quizzical look, "What is it?"

"You could have asked me to give up this case," he murmured, still looking at her, "And I _would _have. With those eyes that I can't bear to disappoint and you _know_ it. Why _didn't_ you?"

She blinked, touched, "Because it was a case."

He lifted his other hand to stroke her cheek, "You never try to change me, you know? And I…I love you for that," he dropped his hand, "I imagine John Watson thinks love's a mystery to me," he began, his hand trailing down her arm to take her hand in his own, "But it never is around _you_," he admitted, "You've been such an important part of my life Leena," he shook his head, trying to find the words to express himself, "Without you...I wouldn't be where I am today."

She gave a little laugh, "You'd probably be Mycroft's assistant."

He smiled, nodding, he probably _would_ be if he'd followed his brother into the government like his parents had wished, had she not encouraged him to follow his dreams of being a detective instead, "I am who I am _because_ of you," he told her softly, lifting his hand to reveal a small box in it, "I...cannot be me _without_ you," she blinked, taking a breath as she noticed the box, "If I ever lost your trust...if I ever lost YOU...I don't know what I'd do," he clicked the box open to reveal a modest, simple, diamond ring, "Will you marry me Jacqueline?"

Leena's eyes widened as her mouth dropped open, looking between him and the ring in shock before quickly shaking her head out of it and throwing her arms around him tightly.

"Is that a yes?" he asked, slightly confused.

She pulled back with a smile, tears in her eyes, "Deduce this," she whispered to him, leaning in to kiss him deeply.

He was still partially dazed when she pulled away nearly a minute later, "It's a yes," he nodded, before kissing her in return.

A/N: I would imagine, being a 'sociopath,' that Sherlock would completely miss _why_ Leena was upset even if he noticed she _was_ upset and wouldn't be able to see how his actions (even as reactions to Leena) appeared to others. I hope it was believable. I also hope it made sense why Leena was the one to crack the code on Irene's phone, Sherlock, in this story, was partially focused on Leena and her reactions instead of entirely on Irene, so, in that sense, he might have missed it. And here, Leena can understand what Irene did with her pass code and why, since he was the basis for both their codes, so I figured she might be able to break the code as well :)

Awww, and we got to see a more caring side of Mycroft :) He seems to have been quite the brat to Leena as a child though, but, as with everything a Holmes does, there's more to it than that. John will actually be the one to find out the reason behind his childhood mean-spiritedness towards Leena during 'the fall.'

Special treat...next chapter, there will be a tiny reference to DW, Series 2, Girl in the Fireplace. Something that happened in that episode will appear in some form in the next chapter. Virtual cookie to those who spot it :)


	3. The Hound of Baskerville: Break In

The Hound of Baskerville: Break In

John, who was sitting on his armchair, with his laptop open on his lap, and Leena, who was standing by the kitchen, leaning on the doorway, sipping some tea, looked over when the door to 221B Baker Street slammed open. John's eyes widened, seeing Sherlock standing there in black trousers and a white shirt…covered in blood and holding a harpoon. Leena just blinked and went back to sipping her tea completely unfazed, as though this were a normal occurrence.

"Well, that was _tedious_," Sherlock panted.

"You went on the Tube like _that_?!" John gaped.

"None of the cabs would take me," he remarked, irritated, leaning the harpoon against the wall and looking at Leena.

She shook her head, "You're not getting anything from me till you clean up."

He smirked and strode over to her, pulling her into a tight hug, getting blood all over her pajamas. He pulled away, his hand trailing down her arm to take her own hand, "Now we both need a clean," he murmured, pulling her off towards the bedroom.

John shook his head, Leena had created a monster by saying yes when Sherlock proposed...something that had nearly given him a heart attck to find out had occured. The man who never showed his emotions, only ever really to Leena it seemed, now showed them more often around HIM, still directed at Leena though, which was fine for him. But it seemed that the thought that Sherlock had actually proposed had finally seeped into the man's mind and he was more expressive of his feelings for Leena, at least around close friends. He initiated touches now, he complimented her more in his own Sherlockish way, he was more…dare he say it…playful.

He knew that Sherlock and Leena had teased him and played him a few times, implying they'd had sex, like when they'd both emerged in nothing but sheets or when she'd gone to 'help' Sherlock dress in Buckingham Palace, but he knew they actually hadn't. Mycroft would have _certainly_ noticed if they had. He knew they were just playing a trick on him.

He looked over, hearing Leena giggle and tell Sherlock to 'stop it' playfully and still couldn't help but smile.

Sherlock was…happy.

And Sherlock was his friend.

So he was happy for him.

~8~

Sherlock paced the flat rapidly, the harpoon in his hand, now cleaned up in new clothes, with his dressing gown over it, his _only_ dressing gown now that he'd taken great pleasure in burning the one Irene had worn. He looked at John as the man flicked through the newspapers, then Leena, who was surfing the web on his laptop, both searching for cases to entertain him.

"Nothing?" he snapped impatiently.

"Military coup in Uganda," John shrugged.

"Hmm," he considered it.

Leena laughed, "Really John?" she looked up from his website, "Another picture of Sherwood with the, er…" she turned the laptop to show Sherlock in the deerstalker hat.

Sherlock made a disgusted noise and rolled his eyes, "Hack in and delete it for me," he called to Leena who shook her head, she rather liked that picture.

"Oh, um, Cabinet reshuffle," John muttered.

"Nothing of importance?" Sherlock sighed in frustration, slamming the harpoon onto the ground, raging, "_Oh, God!_" he looked at them intensely, "John, I need some. _Get_ me some."

"No," John said sternly.

So he turned to Leena, pleadingly, "Get me some?"

"No," she smiled lightly at him, getting up to walk over to him, taking his hand, "Cold turkey, remember?" she reminded him, cursing Mycroft for giving Sherlock that cigarette when they thought Irene had died the first time, he'd been doing so well, but Sherlock, in a surprising lapse of judgment had assumed Leena had given Mycroft the go-ahead to give him the cigarette and taken it, "We agreed, no matter what, and you promised."

Sherlock looked irritated, but didn't ask for the cigarettes again.

"Anyway," John added as Sherlock set the harpoon aside, "You've paid everyone off, remember? No one within a two mile radius'll sell you any."

"Stupid idea," he muttered, "Whose idea was that?"

John cleared his throat and nodded subtly at Leena, who had crossed her arms and lifted an eyebrow at the sideways insult.

"Brilliant idea," he winced, "I meant, brilliant idea," she just rolled her eyes at him, "Mrs. Hudson!" he shouted, trying to change the topic, moving to the desk and starting to shuffle through the paperwork, needing a distraction.

"Look, Sherlock, you're doing really well," John tried to encourage, "Don't give up now."

"Tell me where they are," he turned to John again, "Please. Tell me," John was silent, so he pouted, "_Please_."

"Can't help, sorry."

"I'll let you know next week's lottery numbers," he offered but John laughed, "Oh, it was worth a try. Look, I just want to get rid of them completely…"

John scoffed, "Yeah, probably by smoking them."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, looking around the room before rushing over to the fireplace, pulling a slipper from a pile of papers by the unlit wood, reaching inside of it for the cigarettes, but they were gone, "My secret supply," he called, glancing back at Leena as Mrs. Hudson entered, "What have you done with my secret supply?" she was the_ only_ one who would know where they were.

"What do you think Sherwood?" she sighed, moving to sit on the sofa. She'd taken them and thrown them away. Whenever Sherlock got like this, three days, it was _always _three days before he was over it.

"Secret what?" Mrs. Hudson called.

"Cigarettes!" he snapped, still digging, "What have you done with them? Where are they?"

"You know you never let me touch your things!" she countered, before spotting the mess he'd made in his searching, "Ooh, chance would be a fine thing."

Sherlock stood and faced her, "I thought you _weren't_ my housekeeper."

"I'm not," she sighed, "How about a nice cuppa, and perhaps you could put away your harpoon," she added, seeing him pick it up again.

"I need something _stronger_ than tea. Seven _per__cent_ stronger," he turned to glare out the window before spinning back at Mrs. Hudson, pointing the harpoon at her, making her flinch, "You've been to see Mr. Chatterjee again."

"Pardon?"

"Sandwich shop. That's a new dress, but there's flour on the sleeve. You wouldn't dress like that for baking…"

"Sherlock..." John began, knowing where this would lead.

"Thumbnail…tiny traces of foil. Been at the scratch cards again. We all know where _that_ leads, don't we?" he inhaled deeply, sniffing, and lowered the harpoon, "Mmm…Kasbah Nights. Pretty racy for first thing on a Monday morning, wouldn't you agree? I've written a little blog on the identification of perfumes. It's on the website, you should look it up."

"Please…" Mrs. Hudson said quietly.

"I wouldn't pin your hopes…"

"Excuse me a moment Mrs. Hudson," Leena stood, interrupting Sherlock, before walking straight over to him and kissing him, half-pressing him back against the fireplace as he stumbled, shocked at the sudden move.

He'd_ just_ started to kiss back, his hands moving to her waist, when she smirked and pulled away, spinning to face Mrs. Hudson, still in his arms, "A cuppa would be lovely, thank you."

Mrs. Hudson blinked and smiled, seeing Sherlock in too much of a daze to continue on his deduction of her. She nodded and took her leave, laughing quietly to herself, that girl's methods for quieting Sherlock were truly something to behold and they were always disserent. She'd never seen Sherlock react quite that way to anyone, well, anyone except Leena.

Sherlock leaned forward, resting his chin on Leena's shoulder, "You don't play fair," he murmured in her ear, petulantly, like a child.

"Neither do you," she countered, pulling his hand that had been stroking her side away and stepping out of his arms, to take his hand and lead him back to the sofa to sit.

He plopped down with a sigh, twisting so he was lying down, his legs bent, his head on Leena's lap. He glanced at John a moment later, sighing, "Oh, John, I envy you so much."

John frowned, not sure what he was talking about, "_You_ envy _me_?"

"Your mind…it's so placid, straightforward, barely used. Mine's like an engine, racing out of control, a rocket tearing itself to pieces trapped on the launch pad…" he winced, before shouting, "I _need_ a _case_!"

Leena laughed, not at all perturbed by his violent mood swings, she'd dealt with them enough in the twenty or so years she'd known him to not be offended or shocked by them anymore, "You've just solved one," she reminded him, tapping his forehead, "By harpooning a dead pig."

"That was this morning," he muttered, looking up at her, "When's the next one?"

She sighed, shrugging, "There's nothing new on the website…"

He groaned, thinking of the old messages, "'Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I can't find Bluebell anywhere. Please, please, please can you help?'"

"Bluebell?" John shook his head, confused.

"It's a rabbit," Leena explained, "It disappeared suddenly, the hutch locked, with no sign of forced entry…"

"Oh but there's more," Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Before Bluebell disappeared, it turned luminous..." he heightened his voice like a little girl, "Like a fairy," before resuming its normal tone, "According to little Kirsty. Then, the next morning, Bluebell was gone!" he paused, before sitting up quickly, "Ah! What am I saying? This is brilliant! Phone Lestrade. Tell him there's an escaped rabbit!"

Leena laughed, "You're joking aren't you?"

"It's this, or Cluedo," he countered.

"That's fine with me," she agreed, she loved seeing his interpretations.

"No!" John shouted, seeming as though he were about to have a heart attack just from the thought of playing that game with Sherlock, "We are _never_ playing that again!"

"Why not?" Sherlock grumbled.

"Because it's not actually possible for the _victim_ to have done it, Sherlock, that's why."

"Well, it was the only possible solution."

"It's not in the rules."

"Then the rules are wrong!"

"Ok," Leena cut in, "How about some poker?"

"No!" now it was Sherlock's turn to shout.

John frowned, "Why not?" he'd be up for that.

"She's the only one I can't read if she's bluffing or not," he muttered.

"What, really?" John gaped.

"I'm the only one he CHOOSES not to read," she corrected, "If he analyzes me, I profile him and the game's over before it begins if we do. And he's a sore loser."

She'd gotten fairly good at poker, Rossi, a member of her team in America, and Spencer having taught her quite a few tricks that Sherlock still hadn't worked out.

Before anyone could offer another suggestion, the doorbell rang.

"Single ring," John remarked.

"Maximum pressure just under the half second," Sherlock added.

"So it's a client then," Leena finished with a smile, finally, just what Sherlock needed.

~8~

Sherlock sat on the sofa, Leena beside him, John on a chair while a man sat in John's seat, watching a documentary on the telly of Dartmoor, Sherlock instantly bored already, having taken to watching the man who had come to see them, a Henry Knight, instead of the top-secret facility, Baskerville, which was famous for rumors of genetic experiments and chemical development. He rolled his eyes and shut off the footage as it got to Henry, who claimed that a large monster had killed his father on the moors, a giant dog.

"What did you see Henry?" Leena asked.

"Oh," he pointed to the television, "I...I was just about to say."

"Yes," Sherlock rolled his eyes again, "In a TV interview. I prefer to do my own editing."

"Yes. Sorry, yes, of course. 'Scuse me," he pulled out a paper napkin and wiped his nose.

"In your own time," John added, seeing the man was clearly traumatized.

"But quite quickly," Sherlock countered.

"Do you know Dartmoor, Mr. Holmes?" Henry asked.

"No."

"It's an amazing place. It's like nowhere else. It's sort of...bleak but beautiful."

"Mmm, not interested. Moving on."

"We used to go for walks, after my mum died, my dad and me. Every evening we'd go out onto the moor."

"Yes, good. Skipping to the night that your dad was violently killed. Where did that happen?"

"Ease up just a bit Sherwood," Leena offered quietly.

"There's a place, it's...it's a sort of local landmark called Dewer's Hollow," Henry began, "That's an ancient name for the Devil."

Sherlock shook his head, "So?"

John frowned, "Did you see the Devil that night?"

Henry nodded, "Yes. It was huge. Coal-black fur, with red eyes," he sniffled, recalling the night his father had died, "It got him, tore at him, tore him apart. I can't remember anything else. They found me the next morning, just wandering on the moor. My dad's body was never found."

"Hmm," John looked at Sherlock, "Red eyes, coal-black fur, enormous…dog? Wolf?"

"Or a genetic experiment," Leena shrugged as Sherlock bit back a smile.

Henry frowned, seeing the smile, "Are you laughing at me, Mr. Holmes?"

"Why, are you joking?" he asked.

"My dad was always going on about the things they were doing at Baskerville, about the type of monsters they were breeding there. People used to laugh at him. At least the TV people took me seriously."

"And, I assume, did wonders for Devon tourism."

"Henry," Leena began, leaning forward, Sherlock rolling his eyes as he saw what she was doing, trying to be compassionate, it both irritated him and did things to him when she did. Irritated him because compassion hardly ever got anyone anywhere in his opinion, and did things to him because...it was so _her_, the empathy to his apathy, "Whatever _did_ happen to your father, it was twenty years ago. Why come to us _now_?"

Henry leaned forward, sighing as he glanced at Sherlock, "I'm not sure you can help me, Mr. Holmes, since you find it all so funny," he stood up and walked towards the door.

But then Leena called out, "What happened last night?"

Henry froze and turned back to her, stunned.

"What?" John looked at her, confused.

Henry, though, was gaping, "How...how do you know?"

"You're having a clear reaction to something that happened years ago because something triggered it," she shrugged, leaning back into Sherlock's arms, "Something recent, something had to have set it off."

"You came up from Devon on the first available train this morning," Sherlock added, speaking quickly, as he always did when he wanted to get his full point across before the other person could become offended, "You had a disappointing breakfast and a cup of black coffee. The girl in the seat across the aisle fancied you. Although you were initially keen, you've now changed your mind. You are, however, _extremely_ anxious to have your first cigarette of the day. Sit down, Mr. Knight, and do _please_ smoke. I'd be delighted," he smirked as Henry stared at him.

Henry turned to look at John, who just shook his head, sighing, before he walked back to his chair and sat down, fishing in his pocket for his smokes, "How on earth did you notice all that?!"

"It's not important..." John tried to cut it off.

But Sherlock had already begun, nodding at two small round pieces of paper stuck to Henry's coat, "Punched-out holes where your tickets been checked..."

"Not now, Sherlock," John tried again.

"Oh let him have his fun John," Leena smiled.

"Fun?" John scoffed, "He's just showing off."

She laughed, "Of course. He IS a show-off."

Sherlock nodded, "That's what we _do_," he turned his attention back to the napkin Henry was still holding, "The train napkin that you used to mop up the spilled coffee, the strength of the stain shows that you didn't take milk. There are traces of ketchup on it and round your lips and on your sleeve. Cooked breakfast, or the nearest thing those trains can manage. Probably a sandwich."

Henry's eyes widened at that, "How did you know it was disappointing?"

Leena smiled as Sherlock nudged her, "Train breakfasts always are."

Sherlock nodded, "The girl, female handwriting's quite distinctive, wrote her phone number down on the napkin. I can tell from the angle she wrote at that she was sat across from you on the other side of the aisle. Later, after she got off, I imagine, you used the napkin to mop up your spilled coffee, accidentally smudging the numbers. You've been over the last four digits yourself with another pen, so you wanted to keep the number. Just now, though, you used the napkin to blow your nose. Maybe you're not _that_ into her after all. Then there's the nicotine stains on your fingers...your _shaking_ fingers. I know the signs," he narrowed his gaze, "No chance to smoke one on the train, no time to roll one before you got a cab here," he glanced at his watch, "It's just after 9:15. You're _desperate_. The first train from Exeter to London leaves at 5:46a.m. You got the first one possible, so, as Leena mentioned, something important must have happened last night. Am I wrong?"

Henry stared, mouth agape, before shaking his head, "No," Sherlock smiled smugly at that, "You're right. You're completely, exactly right. Bloody hell, I heard you were quick."

"It's my job," he smirked.

Leena just rolled her eyes, hitting him lightly, playfully, on the chest, "You really must stop showing off for me," she told him softly, staring at him with a fond look despite her words, "I know how brilliant you are."

He merely smiled, "I just want you to remember why you said yes," he picked up her hand and, in an uncharacteristic display of affection, kissed the back of it, just below her engagement ring. She smiled in return and leaned forward to give him a peck, before leaning back into the sofa as Sherlock leaned forward, turning his attention back to Henry as though the small moment hadn't just happened, "Now shut up and smoke."

John frowned at that as Henry took out a cigarette and lit it, while he looked over his notes, "Um, Henry, your parents both died and you were, what, seven years old?"

Henry took a long drag and exhaled slowly, savoring it, as Sherlock stood up and moved closer to him, "I know. That...my..." he trailed off when Sherlock leaned into the smoke drifting from the cigarette and the smoke he exhaled on his next drag, breathing it in deeply.

John rolled his eyes, "That must be a...quite a trauma. Have you ever thought that maybe you invented this story, this..."

Henry exhaled again, Sherlock diving in to suck up the smoke again.

Leena shook her head and reached forward, tugging him back onto the sofa, succeeding in making him fall onto it with a plop, "Stop that dear," she leaned over and kissed him.

He sighed, resting his head to hers, "That won't always work to distract me you know."

She smiled, "I do. But let's experiment and see how long that'll be till?"

He smiled at that.

"...to account for it?" John finished.

"That's what Dr. Mortimer says," Henry remarked.

"Who?"

"His therapist," Leena and Sherlock said.

"My therapist," Henry said, almost at the same time.

"Obviously," Sherlock rolled his eyes, but moved his arm around Leena, not getting up to inhale the smoke again.

"Louise Mortimer. She's the reason I came back to Dartmoor. She thinks I have to face my demons."

"And what happened when you went back to Dewer's Hollow last night, Henry? You went there on the advice of your therapist and now you're consulting a detective. What did you see that changed everything?"

"It's a strange place, the Hollow. Makes you feel so cold inside, so afraid..."

Sherlock rolled his eyes again, "Yes, if I wanted poetry, I'd read one of Leena's books or one of John's emails to his girlfriends. Much funnier."

"Sherwood," Leena shook her head, letting him know sifting through John's emails for amusement was not a socially acceptable thing to do.

"What did you _see_?" Sherlock turned back to Henry.

"Footprints. On the exact spot where I saw my father torn apart."

"Man's or a woman's?" John asked.

"Neither. They were..."

"Is that it?" Sherlock interrupted, "Nothing else. _Footprints_? Is that_ all_?"

"Yes, but they were..."

"No, sorry, Dr. Mortimer wins. Leena?"

She sighed, "He's thinking it's a childhood trauma masked by an invented memory."

He nodded, "Boring! Goodbye, Mr. Knight. Thank you for smoking."

"No, but what about the footprints?" Henry frowned.

"Oh, they're probably paw prints, could be anything, therefore nothing," he flicked his hand towards the door, "Off to Devon with you, have a cream tea on me," he stood up and buttoned his jacket, reaching out a hand to Leena, "Let's get lunch."

"Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!" Henry called as the two made their way to the door, well, Sherlock made his way, tugging Leena along.

Sherlock stopped dead and turned around, staring at Henry, "Say that again."

"I found the footprints, they were..."

"No, no, no, your exact words. Repeat your exact words from a moment ago, exactly as you said them."

"Mr. Holmes," Leena said for Henry, seeing him confused, "They were the footprints of a gigantic...hound."

Sherlock nodded, "I'll take the case."

"Sorry, what?" John looked over, startled.

Sherlock pressed his hands together, resting his fingertips to his mouth as he began to pace, Leena moving to sit on the arm of John's chair to watch, "Thank you for bringing this to my attention. It's very promising."

"No, no, no, sorry, _what_? A minute ago, footprints were boring, now they're very promising?"

"It's _nothing_ to do with footprints," Sherlock stopped, "As ever John, you weren't _listening_. Baskerville, ever heard of it?"

"Vaguely. It's very hush-hush."

"Sounds like a good place to start."

"Ah!" Henry smiled, "You'll come down, then?"

"No, I can't leave London at the moment. Far too busy. Don't worry, putting my best man onto it," he walked over to John and patted his shoulder, "Always rely on John to send me the relevant data, as he never understands a word of it himself."

"What are you talking about, you're busy?" John scoffed, making Leena smile as she reached for her tea cup on the small table and took a sip, "You don't have a case! A minute ago you were complaining..."

"Correct, I don't have a case, but I _am_ busy," he agreed.

"Doing what?" John scoffed.

"Wedding cake tasting."

Leena actually started to choke on her tea as John did the same with his air, "Wedding cake..." he began, "You set a date?!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes as Leena shook her head, "No...not just yet..."

"And once we've seen to that, we've still got Bluebell John!" Sherlock added, "We've got _Bluebell_! The case of the vanishing, glow-in-the-dark rabbit!" he glanced at Henry, "NATO's in uproar."

"Oh, sorry, no," Henry frowned, "You're _not_ coming, then?"

"Ok," John stood up as Sherlock smiled smugly, "Ok," he walked over to the mantel and picked up 'Yorrick,' taking a packet of cigarettes from under it. He put the skull down and tossed the packet to Sherlock who, upon catching it, quickly tossed it over his shoulder.

He grinned, "Told you," he smirked at John's shocked expression, he really HAD wanted to get rid of them, "I don't need those anymore. I'm going to Dartmoor," he strode out of the room with Leena, "You go on ahead, Henry. We'll follow later."

Henry rushed to his feet, so, SO confused, "Er, sorry, so you _are_ coming?"

Sherlock glanced back, "Twenty year old disappearance? A monstrous hound? I wouldn't miss this for the world!"

~8~

Later that day John was carrying two large bags onto the street, Leena holding the door open for him, a bag of her own in her hand as they walked over to the taxi where Sherlock held the door open for them.

"...cruise together!" they looked over, hearing Mrs. Hudson shouting at a man inside her shop, "You had _no_ intention of taking _me_ on it..." and then she threw something.

"Oh!" John sighed, "Looks like Mrs. Hudson finally got to Chatterjee's wife in Doncaster."

Leena had to shake her head, "Wait 'til she finds out about the one in Islamabad," she wiggled her phone, she'd been tracking Mrs. Hudson's beau's financial transactions, keeping abreast of his actions.

John sniggered and gestured for Leena go get into the taxi, sliding in after her, Sherlock after him, "Paddington Station, please," Sherlock called to the driver.

~8~

Sherlock and Leena stood on a large stone outcrop in the middle of Dartmoor, John at the foot of it, looking at a map, while they took in the view.

"It's beautiful," Leena breathed, smiling at the land.

Sherlock had to smile, she WOULD appreciate the view, he knew. That's why he'd insisted on going up to it, not to see where they were, claiming they were lost as John believed, but because he knew she'd enjoy the sight. Besides her phone did more than hack, it was GPS as well.

"There's Baskerville," John called, pointing to a line of buildings in the distance, before pointing behind him, "That's Grimpen Village," he turned to look at a heavily wooded area next to Baskerville, "So that must be...yeah, it's Dewer's Hollow."

Sherlock pointed between them, "What's that?"

"Hmm?" John looked up, lifting binoculars to see a fence and warning signs, "Minefield? Technically Baskerville's an army base, so I guess they've always been keen to keep people out."

"That they are," Leena nodded, smirking as she showed Sherlock her phone, him starting to grin at the hack she'd implemented on the facility, showing them just what sort of clearance they'd need to get in.

~8~

Sherlock pulled up to Grimpen Village, stopping the car they'd rented at the Cross Keys inn, before they piled out and walked into the entrance of the pub, Leena pausing to eye a young man giving a tour to a group of sightseers, "...three times a day, tell your friends," the man cheered, "Tell _anyone_!" as the crowd moved they could see he was standing before a sign of a large black dog/wolf, reading 'Beware the Hound' above it, "Don't be strangers, and remember...stay away from the moor at night if you value your lives!"

Sherlock popped the collar of his coat as John rolled his eyes, "I'm cold," he defended.

Leena just shook her head, he always did that when he wanted to seem mysterious and serious. She followed the boys into the pub, watching as John went to check them in, Sherlock looking around quickly only to grow bored of the small room and take her hand, leading her back outside.

He swiped a half-drunk pint of beer from a table and walked over to the tour guide, glancing at the 'Racing Post' sticking out of his pocket, heading over to him where he was finishing a phone call.

"Yeah..." the man nodded, "No. Alright? Right. Take care. Bye."

"Mind if we join you?" Leena smiled, being polite.

The man shrugged and gestured to the table, so they sat, "It's not true, is it?" Sherlock asked, playing the part of the interested tourist, "You haven't actually seen this...hound thing."

"You from the papers?" the man frowned.

Sherlock laughed, "No, nothing like that. Just curious."

"_Have_ you seen it though?" Leena asked eagerly, playing the part as well.

"Maybe," the man smirked.

"Got any proof?" Sherlock eyed him.

"Why would I tell you if I did?" the man scoffed, "'Scuse me."

Sherlock sighed, "Sorry dear," he kissed Leena's temple as she frowned.

"Sorry for what?" the man looked over, pausing as he stood.

Sherlock just glanced at his watch, "Our plans needed darkness."

She pouted but looked up at the sky, "Reckon we've got another half an hour of light though..."

"Wait, wait," the man frowned, "What plans?"

Sherlock sighed, "My girl here," he put his arm around Leena, "Loves a good mystery, loves a scare. I wanted to take her into the moor, look for the hound, but..." he sighed again, "You can't prove you'd seen the hound, so it's probably a fake, and that's just a waste of..."

The man grinned, "Well, don't be too hasty there, mate. I'd hate to disappoint a lady," he winked at Leena.

Sherlock tensed, but Leena squeezed his hand, calming him, "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I've seen it. Only about a month ago, up at the Hollow. It was foggy, mind, couldn't make much out..."

"I see. No witnesses, I suppose."

"No, but..."

"Never are."

"Wait..." he pulled out his phone and showed them a photo of a dark-furred, four-legged creature in a distance, blurry at best, "There."

Sherlock snorted as Leena frowned, "Is that it?" she scoffed, sounding let down, "It's not exactly proof, is it?"

"Sorry, dear," Sherlock helped her up, "No scares today."

"Wait, wait," the man called, "That's not all. People don't like going up there, you know, to the Hollow. Gives them a...bad sort of feeling."

"Is it haunted?" Leena asked, excitedly.

"Is that supposed to convince us?" Sherlock scoffed, seeming as though he didn't want to disappoint her again.

"Nah, don't be stupid, nothing like that," the man shook his head, "But I reckon there _is_ something out there, something from Baskerville, escaped."

"A clone, a super-dog?" he barely held back a snigger.

"Maybe. God knows what they've been spraying on us all these years, or putting in the water. I wouldn't trust 'em as far as I could spit."

"Is that the _best_ you've got?" he nodded at the phone.

The man hesitated a moment before lowering his voice, "I had a mate once who worked for the MoD. One weekend we were meant to go fishin' but he never showed up, well, not 'til late. When he did, he was white as a sheet. I can see him now. 'I've seen things today, Fletch,' he said, 'That I _never _wanna see again. _Terrible_ things.' He'd been sent to some secret Army place, Porton Down maybe, maybe Baskerville, or somewhere else," he leaned closer, "In the labs there, the really _secret_ labs, he said he'd seen...terrible things. 'Rats as big as dogs,' he said, 'And dogs...'" he reached into his bag and pulled out a concrete cast of a dog's paw print, "'...dogs the size of _horses_.'"

They looked at the print, six inches long, very large.

"Wow..." Leena breathed as the man grinned, "Come on love," Leena tugged on Sherlock's arm, "I want to see the hound!"

Sherlock chuckled, "Thanks," he nodded at the man before letting Leena pull him back to the pub/inn.

They had to tell John what they'd found.

~8~

Later that day, Sherlock drove their car to Baskerville, John in the front seat, Leena in the back, sniffling just a bit. John frowned, seeing so many military personnel guarding the place, securing the perimeter, keeping watch. Sherlock drove right up to the gate as a guard with a rifle approached, coming right up to the window, "Pass please," he held out a hand as Sherlock pulled one out of his pocket, "Thank you," he nodded, walking away to go check the ID as another guard came by with a sniffer dog to check the car.

"You've got ID for Baskerville?" John hissed quietly, "How?"

"It's not specific to this place," Sherlock began.

"He nicked it off Mycroft," Leena leaned forward.

Sherlock nodded, "Access all areas."

"Brilliant," John muttered.

"What's the matter John?" Leena frowned.

"We'll get caught."

"No we won't," Sherlock countered, "Well, not just_ yet_."

"Caught in five minutes. 'Oh, hi, we just thought we'd come and have a wander round your top secret weapons base.' 'Really? Great! Come in, kettle's just boiled.' That's if we don't get _shot_."

Leena laughed, "Where's your sense of adventure John?"

Just then the guard came back, sliding the gates open for the car, "Clear," the dog handler called.

The guard nodded, handing the pass back, "Thank you very much, sir."

Sherlock smirked, "Thank you."

"Straight through, sir," the guard nodded as they moved on.

"Mycroft's name _literally_ opens doors!" John laughed.

"I've told you," Sherlock remarked, "He practically _is_ the British government. I reckon we've got about 20 minutes before they realize something's wrong."

Leena hummed, "I'd say 23."

"Oh?"

"Well, Mycroft's been a bit _slow_ lately hasn't he?" she smirked, "Must be that 'diet.'"

Sherlock laughed as they drove up to the complex, parking the car as they got out, another soldier stepping forward to lead them through the barriers to the entrance. Sherlock glanced at the men around them, all armed, even a few of the scientists being escorted around.

"What is it?" a young corporal asked as he pulled up in a jeep, hopping out, "Are we in trouble?"

"Are we in trouble, _sir_." Sherlock corrected, a stern note in his voice.

"Yes, sir, sorry, sir," the man rolled his eyes before stepping in front of them, stopping them.

"You were expecting us?"

"Your ID showed up straight away, Mr. Holmes. Corporal Lyons, security. _Is_ there something wrong, sir?"

"Well, I hope not Corporal, I hope not."

"It's just…we don't _get _inspected here, you see, sir. It just _doesn't_ happen."

"Ever heard of a spot check?" John scoffed, taking a small wallet from his pocket, showing his military ID, "_Captain_ John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers."

The corporal immediately moved to attention and saluted his superior officer, John returning the salute, "Sir," the man began, "Major Barrymore won't be pleased, sir. He'll want to see you."

"I'm afraid we won't have time for that. We'll need the full tour right away. Carry on," he eyed the man as he hesitated, "That's an _order_, Corporal."

"Yes, sir," Lyons nodded, spinning around to lead them on.

Sherlock looked at John with a proud smile as Leena locked her arm with his, "Smooth John," she laughed quietly, "Well done."

He just grinned and tucked her arm into his more before they followed after the man, right to an entrance marked 'Automatic Security Door.' Lyons swiped his pass and waited for Sherlock to do the same with his own pass, granting them access. Lyons pressed a button to disengage the door as Sherlock glanced at his watch, keeping eye on the time, knowing how long it would take Mycroft to find out about this.

Lyons led them in as soon as the door swung open, moving to the next security door.

"Nice touch," Sherlock had to admit.

"Haven't pulled rank in ages," John remarked.

"Enjoy it?"

"Oh yeah," he grinned.

Lyons swiped his pass at another door, moving for Sherlock to do the same, granting them access. The door slid open and they stepped into the lift on the other side, riding it down to the basement which was a brightly lit and white tiled lab. There were various scientific staff dressed in white coveralls and breathing masks or lab coats with face masks, all wandering around. There was a set of large cages next to them as they stepped off, following Lyons past a monkey that screeched and threw itself at the cage.

Sherlock paused and looked at the monkey, the ID chain around its neck, "How many animals do you keep down here?"

"Lots, sir," Lyons remarked.

"Have any ever escaped?" Leena asked, spotting a scientist with a beagle.

"They'd have to know how to use that lift, ma'am. We're not breeding them _that_ clever."

"Unless they have help," Sherlock countered.

"Ah, and you are?" an older man in a white lab coat stepped over, pulling his facemask off.

"Sorry, Dr. Frankland. I'm just showing these gentlemen and this lady around."

Frankland smiled at them, "Ah, new faces, huh? Nice," he smiled at Leena, taking her hand and kissing the back of it, "Charmed. But be careful you don't get stuck here, though. I only came to fix a tap!"

John chuckled politely at that as Sherlock glared at the man, tugging Leena out of John's arm and holding her hand as the man walked off.

"How far down does that lift go?" John asked, eyeing Frankland as he got on one.

"Quite a way, sir," Lyons answered.

"Mhmm. And what's down there?"

"Well, we have to keep the bins _somewhere_, sir. This way please," he gestured them off, Sherlock glancing back at Frankland, who was still eyeing them, till Leena tugged him on.

"So what exactly is it that you do here?"

"I thought you'd know, sir, this being an inspection."

Sherlock glanced around at the various scientists ambling through the room, some looking at a rat in a glass cage, others tying a monkey to a leash, another picking up some sort of serum in a jar.

"Well, I'm not an expert, am I?" John countered, pulling Sherlock's attention back.

"Everything from stem cell research to trying to cure the common cold, sir," Lyons replied.

"But mostly weaponry?"

"Of one sort or another, yes," he swiped his card, stepping aside for Sherlock to do the same.

"Biological? Chemical?"

"One war ends, another begins, sir. New enemies to fight. We have to be prepared."

Sherlock glanced at his watch as the door opened, stepping through after Lyons, who led them into a lab where a monkey stood up, shrieking at them, before sitting down, a female scientist observing it.

"Ok, Michael, let's try Harlow Three next time," she turned to her partner, before walking away to another table.

"Dr. Stapleton," Lyons greeted, leading them over.

Sherlock frowned, "Stapleton,"

Where had he heard that name before?

"Yes?" the woman looked up, glancing at the trio, "Who's this?"

"Priority Ultra, ma'am," Lyons told her, "Orders from on high. An inspection."

"_Really_?"

"We're to be accorded every courtesy, Dr. Stapleton," Sherlock remarked, "What's your role at Baskerville?"

Stapleton just looked at him and snorted, laughing at him.

"Er, accorded _every_ courtesy, isn't that the idea?" John reminded her.

"I'm not free to say," she smirked, "Official secrets."

Sherlock smiled, "Oh, you most certainly _are_ free..." before it faded, his voice becoming a hint threatening, "And I suggest you _remain_ that way."

She looked at him a moment before sighing, "I have a lot of fingers in a lot of pies. I like to mix things up, genes mostly, now and again actual fingers."

Sherlock turned to Leena, "Stapleton," he said, knowing she would understand.

"Kirsty and Bluebell," she told him, recalling reading the email.

"And people say there's no such thing as coincidence. What dull lives they must lead," he turned to Stapleton, "Why did Bluebell have to die, Dr. Stapleton?"

She blinked, "Have you been talking to my daughter?"

John looked between them, "The rabbit?"

"Disappeared from inside a locked hutch, which was always suggestive," Sherlock shrugged.

"The _rabbit_?"

"It was an inside job," Leena remarked.

"Oh, you reckon?" Stapleton scoffed.

"Why?" Sherlock continued, "Because it glowed in the dark."

Stapleton tensed, "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. Who are you?"

Sherlock glanced at his watch, before turning to Lyons, "Well, I think we've seen enough for now, Corporal. Thank you so much."

"That's it?" Lyons asked, surprised.

"That's it," Leena smiled "Thank you," she shook the man's hand before Sherlock tugged her off, walking briskly towards the door.

"It's this way, isn't it?" Sherlock called.

"Just a minute!" Stapleton called from behind them.

"Did we just break into a military base to investigate a _rabbit_?" John hissed at them, catching up.

Sherlock swiped his card, letting Lyons do the same, as they headed out, striding down the corridor till his phone beeped. He smirked at the message.

_What are you doing?_  
**MH**

He laughed sarcastically, showing it to Leena, "23 minutes," he told her.

"Mycroft's getting slow," she nodded as they reached the lift doors, Sherlock swiping his card with Lyons, stepping in as Frankland stood within.

"Hello...again," the man greeted.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but said nothing, only stepping out of the lift doors when they opened again, a bearded man in military garb waiting for them, not looking at all happy.

"Er, um, Major..." Lyons began.

"This is bloody outrageous," the Major glared, "Why wasn't I told?"

"Major Barrymore, is it?" John stepped forward, eyeing the man's nametag, "Yes, well, good. Very good," he offered his hand to shake, "We're very impressed, aren't we, Mr. Holmes, Miss Jerrard?"

Barrymore simply stood there, refusing the hand offered to him.

"Deeply, hugely," Sherlock remarked dryly, pushing past Barrymore as he looked at his phone.

_What's going on Sherlock?_  
**MH**

The major followed them along, "The whole point of Baskerville was to _eliminate_ this kind of bureaucratic nonsense..."

"I'm so sorry, Major."

"Inspections?!"

"New policy. Can't remain unmonitored forever. Goodness knows _what_ you'd get up to..." he glanced over as Leena's phone beeped.

_Aren't you keeping him out of trouble?_  
**MH**

Leena rolled her eyes and showed Sherlock the phone before turning to John, "Keep walking," she told him quietly, knowing that when Mycroft texted_ her_, things were nearing an end.

As though reading her mind, Lyons ran over, having gotten a report of his own, "Sir!" he slammed an alarm button on the wall, red lights starting to flash as the security doors locked, "ID unauthorized, sir."

"What?" Barrymore gaped.

"I've just had the call."

"Is that right?" he turned to glare at the trio, "Who are you?"

"Look, there's obviously been some kind of mistake," John began.

Barrymore held out a hand for Sherlock's ID which was given to him, "Clearly not Mycroft Holmes."

John pulled out his notebook, continuing the ruse as he began to write, "Computer error, Major. It'll all have to go in the report."

"What the _hell's_ going on?!"

"It's alright, Major," Frankland called, walking down the hallway, having come to investigate the alarm, "I know _exactly_ who these gentlemen and this lovely lady are."

"You do?"

"Yeah. I'm getting a little slow on faces but Mr. Holmes here isn't someone I expected to show up in this place."

"Ah, well..." Sherlock nodded, not quite sure where the man was going.

Frankland just offered his hand to shake, "Good to see you again, Mycroft," John nearly gaped in shock, till Leena elbowed him in the gut. Sherlock smiled falsely and shook the man's hand, "I had the honor of meeting Mr. Holmes at the W.H.O. conference in..." he paused, thinking, "...Brussels, was it?"

"Vienna," Sherlock corrected, making Leena smile as he shot her a small grin.

Vienna was her favorite place, their families used to vacation there in the summers.

"Vienna, that's it," he turned to Barrymore, "This is Mr. Mycroft Holmes, Major. There's obviously been a mistake."

Barrymore turned to Lyons, who went back to switch the alarm off, the lights dimming, the noise going silent, the doors opening, "On your head be it, Dr. Frankland," he warned, sensing a ploy here.

Frankland laughed, "I'll show them out, Corporal."

"Very well, sir," Lyons nodded.

Sherlock spun around and walked to the entrance with Leena and John, Frankland behind them, with a rather sour Barrymore behind him.

"Thank you," Leena smiled at the man as they approached the car, Barrymore remaining by the door.

"This is about Henry Knight, isn't it?" the man asked, he nodded at their silence, "I _thought_ so. I knew he wanted help but I didn't realize he was going to contact _Sherlock Holmes_!" Sherlock grimaced at being discovered, "Oh, don't worry. I know who you really are. I'm never off your website. Thought you'd be wearing the hat, though."

"That wasn't my hat," he grumbled.

"It is now," Leena laughed, she'd gotten him one for Christmas as a tiny joke.

"I hardly recognized him without the hat!" Frankland told John as he smiled.

"It _wasn't _my hat!" Sherlock insisted.

"I love the blog too, Dr. Watson."

"Oh," John smiled, "Cheers!"

"The, er, the pink thing..."

"Mhmm."

"...and that one about the aluminum crutch!"

"Yes."

"You know Henry Knight?" Leena cut in, seeing Sherlock get irritated, wanting to go or get answers.

Frankland nodded, "Well, I knew his dad better. He had all sorts of mad theories about this place. Still, he was a good friend," he looked back at Barrymore and turned to them, "Listen, I can't really talk now," he pulled his card out and handed it over, "Here's my, er, cell number," Leena frowned at that, she often said it as well, having spent so long in America, "If I could help with Henry, give me a call."

"I never did ask, Dr. Frankland," Sherlock began, "What exactly is it that you do here?"

"Oh, Mr. Holmes, I would love to tell you, but then, of course, I'd have to kill you!" he laughed cheerfully.

"That would be tremendously ambitious of you," Leena remarked, "SO many have tried and failed in the past."

Frankland's smile faded, seeing she was actually _serious_.

"Tell me about Dr. Stapleton," Sherlock continued.

"Never speak ill of a colleague," Frankland recited.

"Yet you'd speak well of one, which you're clearly omitting to do."

"I _do_ seem to be, don't I?" he shrugged.

"We'll be in touch," he lifted the card.

"Any time," he nodded, waving as they walked to the car.

"So?" John sighed.

"So?" Sherlock looked over.

"What was all that about the rabbit?"

Sherlock smiled and pulled his coat tighter, flipping up the collar as John rolled his eyes, "Oh, please, can we _not_ do this, this time?"

"Do what?" Sherlock glanced at him.

John sighed, "You being all mysterious with your cheekbones and turning your coat collar up so you look cool."

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak but actually seemed shocked, "I don't do that."

Leena smirked, "Yeah you do," she walked over to him and gave him a kiss, "And I agree. Very mysterious and very cool."

He smirked smugly and got into the car, John rolling his eyes at how she continuously encouraged Sherlock's behavior.

"So," John began as Sherlock drove them off, "The email from Kirsty, the, er, missing luminous rabbit…"

"Kirsty Stapleton, whose mother specializes in genetic manipulation," Sherlock nodded.

"She made her daughter's rabbit glow-in-the-dark."

"That's sweet," Leena remarked, "In a slightly unnatural way."

"Probably a fluorescent gene removed and spliced into the specimen," Sherlock shrugged, "Simple enough these days."

"So..." John began, looking at Sherlock.

"So we know that Dr. Stapleton performs secret genetic experiments on animals. The question is…has she been working on something deadlier than a rabbit?"

"That's a fairly wide field," Leena sighed, leaning forward to rest her chin on Sherlock's shoulder, he had to agree there.

~8~

The trio sat in the kitchen of Henry's mansion, Sherlock putting two sugar lumps into his mug, stirring them in as Leena breathed into her steaming cup, her nose had stuffed up earlier, as it always did when she went somewhere that wasn't London. She didn't know why, probably the different airs. But it _always_ happened. When she'd gone to America especially, even when she would return to France to visit family, but never seemed to stuff up when she went to London though. Strange.

"It's…it's a couple of words," Henry told them about why he'd called them over, he'd had a memory session with his therapist and remembered, "It's what I keep seeing. 'Liberty...'"

"Liberty," John asked, moving to jot it down in his notebook.

"'Liberty' and...'in.' It's just that," he picked up a bottle of milk from the island between the three of them, "Are you finished?"

John nodded and Henry turned to put the milk away, "Mean anything to you?" John asked Sherlock and Leena, "Either of you?"

"'Liberty in death,'" Sherlock muttered softly, "Isn't that the expression? The only true freedom."

Leena shrugged as she sipped her tea, "Only thing I can think of is Liberty, Indiana, in America."

"What now, then?" Henry asked, neither of them helping much.

"Sherlock's got a plan," John assured him.

"Yes," Sherlock agreed.

"Right," Henry nodded, waiting for him to continue.

"We take you back out onto the moor..."

He swallowed hard, "Ok..."

"...and see if anything attacks you."

A/N: Lol, oh Sherlock, you and your plans. Did anyone like Leena's little choking moment? Let's just say...the wedding will be mentioned a few times in upcoming chapters and, if Sherlock seems a bit OOC in talking about it, there'll be a look into his thoughts on it during 'the fall' that'll hopefully explain him :)

So...this chapter had a tiny hint of DW Series 2, Girl in the Fireplace in it...anyone spot it? Virtual cookie to those who did. If not, there'll be a much more obvious treat in the next chapter, a small tribute to the wonderful Sherlock Holmes movies of Jude Law and Robert Downey Jr. :)


	4. The Hound of Baskerville: Freak Out

The Hound of Baskerville: Freak Out

"What?!" John exclaimed.

"That should bring things to a head," Sherlock nodded.

"At night?" Henry stared at him, "You want me to go out there at night?"

"Mhmm."

"_That's_ your plan?" John scoffed, laughing, "Brilliant."

"Got any better ideas?"

"I can always try a cognitive interview, some memory retrieval techniques..." Leena shrugged, it was something her friend Emily had taught her about at the BAU.

Sherlock scoffed, "Where's the fun in that? My plan is much more interesting."

"That's _not_ a plan," John countered, getting back to Sherlock's point.

"Listen, _if_ there _is_ a monster out there, John, there's only one thing to do, find out where it lives," he looked at Henry, smiling widely at him, before sipping his drink as the boy looked even more concerned.

"Don't worry Henry," Leena assured him, "You'll be perfectly safe."

"How?" he asked, frowning.

She smiled, "Have you, by any chance, got a hunting rifle?"

"What?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "You and your bloody rifles," he mocked her words about his love of hearing her native accent.

"My father was a hunter," she explained to the men, "I'm a fair shot with a rifle. Rubbish with small guns though."

Henry nodded and headed out to a small shed, getting her the gun.

~8~

Dusk had fallen as the small group wandered towards Dewer's Hollow, each with torches, though Leena was manning the rifle. By the time they reached the moor it was dark, Sherlock, Leena, and Henry heading on as John paused, hearing something and going to investigate.

Henry slowed, shining his light on a sign for the minefield, the fencing and warning signs around it.

"Met a friend of yours," Sherlock remarked, the only other sound in the silence being their footsteps, as they made their way along the fence, and Leena's sniffles as she tried, unsuccessfully, to breathe through her nose.

"What?" Henry looked over.

"Dr. Frankland," Leena explained, sniffling again.

"Oh, right. Bob, yeah."

"He seems concerned about you."

"He's a worrier, bless him. He's been very kind to me since I came back."

"He knew your father?" Sherlock looked over.

"Yeah."

"But he works at Baskerville," Leena glanced over, "Didn't your dad have a problem with that?"

"Well, mates are mates, aren't they? I mean, look at him and John."

"What about us?" Sherlock looked at him.

"Well, I mean, he's a pretty straightforward bloke and you..." he trailed off, shaking his head, "They agreed never to talk about work, Uncle Bob and my dad," he slowed to a stop and turned left, nodding in that direction, "Dewer's Hollow."

Sherlock looked at a steep drop to the hollow, a dark valley below. He held out a hand to Leena, helping her down into the gentle fog that flittered across the area. Henry followed them down, the men shining their torches around, till they found a giant paw print.

A moment later, a howl sounded.

Sherlock spun around, shining his torch up, his eyes, as well as Henry's, widening in horror at a creature that dashed through the trees, on four legs, black fur.

The creature growled and Sherlock's light flailed around, trying to find it again but it was gone. He lowered his light, his face confused and bewildered.

Henry dashed the rest of the way down to them, "Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Did you see it?"

Sherlock lowered his head, shaking it, before shoving Henry out of his way and hurrying back up the hill. Leena frowned, watching him a moment before hurrying after him with Henry.

"Did you hear that?" John ran over.

Sherlock just stormed past him.

"We saw it," Henry gasped, "We _saw_ it."

"No," Sherlock shook his head, "I didn't see anything."

"What?" Henry gaped, "What are you talking about?"

"I. Didn't. See. Anything," he snapped, hurrying along as John turned to Henry, trying to get more information out of him.

Leena frowned and rushed after him, coming alongside him as he briskly continued to walk, effectively leaving John and Henry in the dust, "You don't honestly believe you saw a giant hound do you?" she asked, sniffing a bit.

"Did you?" he looked at her.

"Did I fire the rifle?" she asked him. He nodded to himself and turned back, walking on with his lips pressed in a line, his eyes slightly squinty. Leena's own eyes widened, "Oh no," she shook her head, "I know that face," he glanced at her, "That's your 'let's do an experiment!' face," he didn't reply, just kept walking, "What are you going to do Locksley? Launch psychological warfare on John by trying to make him think there's some sort of mutant dog running around the marsh with…with black fur and red glowing eyes?!"

"I don't know why you're complaining," he remarked as they walked up a hill, "You've never complained about my experiments before."

She let out a scoff and rolled her eyes, "I don't complain about _a lot_ of things you do. Like…like when you play the violin at two in the morning…"

"You said it helps you sleep," he countered.

"…or the mess you leave," she ignored him, continuing on.

"You're one to talk."

"Or how you tend to let your hygiene go a bit between cases," she added, watching as he subtly tried to sniff himself, "Or how you stole my scarf," she fingered the blue cloth around his neck, he truly was lucky it was a homogenous sort of scarf.

"You said I could keep it!"

"…or when you set my room on fire…"

"Nearly," he corrected, "I NEARLY set your room on fire."

"…or when you drugged my cat!"

He looked at her to see her staring at him and had to admit she'd caught him there, "…he was asking for it," he muttered childishly after a moment.

"The fact of the matter still stands," she returned to her original point, "You shouldn't experiment on your friends!"

He just huffed and continued on.

Leena sighed, eyeing him, he was out of sorts, "Do you _really_ think you saw something?"

He glanced at her, "I know I couldn't have. _You_ didn't. So why did _I_?"

~8~

Leena stood by the small counter of the inn/pub, having gone to get Sherlock a cup of tea to 'calm his nerves' or so he wanted to tell John. She looked over at them, sitting in armchairs by a roaring fire in the fireplace, Sherlock looking disturbed and distressed, watching them speak, close enough to just barely hear them over the din of the room.

She sighed, shaking her head, watching as Sherlock grew more 'distressed' till John noticed, the man actually looking like he had tears in his eyes. John had been asking how the hound couldn't be real, but now, seeing Sherlock's state, he was starting to worry. Especially when Sherlock admitted to seeing the hound, admitting he was _afraid_...not that John would ever know it was a ploy. Sherlock Holmes did not admit to fear, unless he wanted to trick someone. And then, he had to shout out that there was nothing wrong with him, making a scene, making John think there _was_ something wrong...before deducing a few people in the room to show what he saw must be what exists.

And when John, poor John, tried to grumble about how Sherlock should listen to him and calm down because they were friends...Sherlock had to be a right old ass and say he didn't have friends, quiet savagely.

John had stormed off.

She sighed again and walked over, sitting down in John's chair and handing him his tea, "You shouldn't do that, you know," she remarked, taking a sip of her own tea.

"Do what?" he asked, his hand shaking as he lifted his cup.

She gave him a pointed look, "I know you're faking Locksley."

His hand suddenly stilled.

"You don't get emotional."

He sipped his tea, now perfectly calm, having been caught out, "I do with you."

She had to smile at that, "And you've known me over 2 decades. I've cracked your armor on more than one occasion. But John," she sighed, "He's new. He can't tell yet."

He smirked, "Exactly."

"You really should stop trying psychological experiments on your friends you know."

"I don't have friends," he repeated.

She smiled, "You can't lie to me either Locksley," he looked over at her, "You hid things from me dealing with Irene, and it nearly ended us. You swore you wouldn't do it again, so don't do it to John either."

"Let's not talk about John," he remarked, finishing his tea.

"I'd like to keep talking about him, thanks. And you know I'll keep doing it."

"Not for a while though," he stated.

"Oh?" she sipped the last of hers, "What, are you going to try to distract me?"

"Not _try_," he grinned, "Succeed," before leaning over to kiss her.

~8~

Sherlock had, somehow, managed to spot Henry's therapist amidst his own 'session' with Leena. No, he was most certainly not the sort to snog a woman in a pub, but that wasn't him and Leena anyway. He'd tugged Leena over to his chair, shifting to the side so she could sit beside him, the size of the chair leading to a rather intimate nearness between them. They were just quietly talking, looking into each other's eyes, just enjoying the closeness. Leena was actually surprised they'd remained in the pub with so many other people around, Sherlock often wasn't comfortable displaying emotion in crowds. But she couldn't help but smile, he didn't seem to notice the crowd as they talked, his gaze focused on her...until he'd noticed the therapist. Despite his desires to get answers, he was loathe to end his 'session' prematurely just to go speak with the woman, Leena...that woman knew how to simply look at him in a way that actually emptied his Mind Palace for a time, made it go blank, made him forget. And her kiss...well, that crashed his Mind Palace entirely for a short while. For a man who's mind was so driven, so focused...these little moments with her were sometimes welcomed, giving him the peace that a case typically would.

"Text John," she murmured, her eyes drifting closed as she leaned on him, her head resting on his shoulder, the warmth of the fire, the sound of his voice as he spoke quietly in her ear, the feel of his arm gently stroking her arm lulling her to sleep. But still, even then, she could just sensing his curiousity, she'd spotted the therapist as well and knew his trying decision...get answers or get up.

He nodded, fumbling for his phone.

_Henry's therapist currently in Cross Keys Pub_  
**SH**

A moment later his phone pinged.

_So?_  
**JW**

_Interview her?_  
**SH**

_WHY SHOULD I?_  
**JW**

"Oh give that to me," she huffed, taking the phone, now more awake from the constant pinging and tapping of keys. She snapped a picture of the attractive woman and sent _that_ as a reply.

It only took a moment before John's final text came.

_On my way_  
**JW**

Leena laughed as Sherlock smirked, standing and taking her hand to lead her back to their room.

~8~

Sherlock smirked to himself as he wandered back through the village from Henry's mansion. He'd had a stroke of genius last night, after a surprisingly restful sleep. He and Henry had seen the dog, Leena and John had not. They hadn't eaten anything different till they'd gone to Henry's where they'd had tea...only he and Henry taking sugar. Someone _must_ have drugged them, drugged the sugar in Henry's house, so he'd gone to snatch a few morsels.

He'd been rather quick about it, he'd left Leena sleeping, as he hated waking her, and she had a thing about not experimenting on friends. He wanted to get back before she woke.

He paused though, seeing John sitting in a churchyard, on the steps of a war memorial, sifting through his notes. He walked over, noting John's look became more uncomfortable as he looked up, "Did you, er, get anywhere with that Morse code?" he asked, actually feeling…bad...for what he'd done to John.

Damn Leena and her conscience, she was like his own personal Jiminy Cricket.

"No," John sighed, stepping off the memorial and walking away.

"U, M, Q, R, A, wasn't it?" he asked, recalling something John had mentioned last night by the fire before he began his experiment, but John kept walking so he followed, "UMQRA."

"Nothing."

"U.M.Q..."

"Look, forget it. It's...I thought I was on to something. I wasn't."

"Sure?"

"Yeah."

"How about Louise Mortimer? Did you get anywhere with her?"

"No."

"Too bad. Did you get any information?"

John smiled briefly at that, glancing over his shoulder but walking on, "You being funny now?"

"Thought it might break the ice a bit."

"Funny doesn't suit you. I'd stick to ice."

Sherlock sighed, "John..."

"It's fine."

"No, wait. What happened last night...something happened to me, something I've not really experienced before..."

"Yes, you said, fear. Sherlock Holmes got scared. You said."

Sherlock caught up to him and grabbed his arm, making him stop, "No, it was _more_ than that, John. I've _felt_ fear before," he swallowed hard, "When...when Moriarty held a gun at Leena, when you were strapped to that bomb..._that_ wasn't it. It was _doubt_. I felt doubt. I've _always_ been able to trust my senses, the evidence of my own eyes, until last night."

"You can't actually believe that you saw some kind of monster," John said, unintentionally mimicking Leena's words.

"No, I _can't_ believe that," he grinned bitterly a moment, "But I _did_ see it, so the question is…how? _How?"_

"Yes. Yeah, right, good. So you've got something to go on, then? Good luck with that," he turned and walked off again.

"Listen, what I said before, John. I meant it."

John stopped and turned to face him.

"I don't have friend_s_," he sighed, "I've just got _one_."

John nodded, "Leen..." he rolled his eyes as Sherlock glared at him for use of her nickname, "_Jackie_."

"No," he shook his head, "She's more than that, obviously."

John nodded, taking in the statement, realizing _he_ was Sherlock's friend, and turned around, walking off, "Right."

Sherlock looked up, his eyes wide as something hit him, "John? John!" he ran after him, "You are amazing! You are fantastic!"

"Yes, alright!" John called, still walking, "You don't have to overdo it."

Sherlock strode past him, turning to walk backwards, "You've never been the most luminous of people, but as a conductor of light you are unbeatable."

"Cheers..." he blinked, "What?"

Sherlock turned to walk beside him, pulling out his own notebook, "Some people who _aren't_ geniuses have an amazing ability to stimulate it in _others_."

"Hang on, you were saying 'Sorry' a minute ago. Don't spoil it. Go on, what have I done that's so bloody stimulating?"

Sherlock stopped just as they reached the pub/inn door, showing him, he'd written HOUND.

"Yeah?"

Sherlock turned the pad to write more, "But what if it's not a _word_? What if it is individual _letters_?"

He flipped it back to show H.O.U.N.D..

"You think it's an acronym?" John frowned.

Sherlock put the book away, "_Absolutely_ no idea but..." he trailed off, hearing Leena laughing and turned to see her standing in the pub beside a familiar man in grey trousers and shirt, suntanned with sunglasses on.

"What the hell are _you_ doing here?" Sherlock stormed into the pub and over to Lestrade.

"Well, nice to see you too," he huffed, "I'm on holiday, would you believe?"

"No, I wouldn't."

Lestrade took his glasses off, "Hullo John."

"Greg!" John greeted.

"I heard you were in the area. What are you up to? You after this 'Hound of Hell' like on the telly?"

"I'm waiting for an explanation, Inspector," Sherlock cut in, "Why are you here?"

"I've told you, I'm on holiday."

"You're brown as a nut. You're clearly just _back_ from your 'holidays.'"

He shrugged, "Yeah, well, I fancied another one."

"Oh, this is Mycroft, isn't it?"

"No, look..."

"Of _course_ it is! One mention of Baskerville and he sends down my handler to...to _spy _on me incognito. Is that why you're calling yourself_ Greg_?"

"That's his _name _Sherwood," Leena shook her head fondly at him.

Sherlock frowned, "Is it?"

"_Yes_," Lestrade rolled his eyes, "If you'd ever bothered to find out. Look, I'm not your handler...and I don't just do what your brother tells me. Not anymore," he smirked.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, "Why not?"

Lestrade grinned, "I have Jackie to thank for that."

The men looked at her and she shrugged, "I threatened to ban him from the wedding," Sherlock smirked as she quickly added, "I don't like people being under your brother's thumb!"

"Actually, you could be _just _the man we want," John remarked.

"Why?" Sherlock looked over.

"Well, I've not been idle, Sherlock. While you two were _busy_..." he shot a knowing smirk at the pair, rummaging through his pockets, "I think I might have found something," he showed them an invoice for meat supplies he'd stolen from the front desk when he'd checked in, "Here. Didn't know if it was relevant, starting to look like it might be. That is an awful lot of meat for a _vegetarian_ restaurant."

"Excellent."

John looked at Lestrade, "Nice scary inspector from Scotland Yard who can put in a few calls might come in very handy," he strode to the desk and rang the bell, "Shop!"

~8~

Talking with Gary and Billy, the owners of the pub, had been a bust. They claimed to have_ had_ a wild dog, using it to drum up ghost stories around the moor by letting it loose sometimes, but that it had been put down, so that was out. Lestrade had been fuming that the men's idea of a joke had harmed another man's mentality so much, or so he thought.

Leena glanced at Sherlock, who was preparing a cup of coffee for John, an apology for last night he told her.

"You know he's actually _pleased_ you're here?" they heard John say to Lestrade as they headed to the door outside, "_Secretly_ pleased."

"Is he?" Lestrade laughed, "That's nice! I suppose he likes having all the same faces back together. Appeals to his...his..."

"Asperger's?" John supplied.

"Sociopathy," Leena corrected as they stepped out of the pub, Sherlock glowering at that last word.

"So, you believe him about having the dog destroyed?" Lestrade turned to Sherlock.

"No reason not to," he replied, handing John the coffee to sip, the man grimacing at the sugar in it but not saying anything about it.

"Well, hopefully there's no harm done. Not quite sure what I'd charge him with anyway. I'll have a word with the local force," he nodded at them, "Right, that's that, then. Catch you later," he smiled, "I'm enjoying this! It's nice to get London out of your lungs!"

"So that was their dog that people saw out on the moor?" John asked as he turned to Sherlock, Lestrade walking away.

"Looks like it," Sherlock cut in before Leena could remind him that they might have seen a dog _last night_, but that their puppy, Gary and Billy claimed, had been put down _days_ ago.

She frowned and looked at him, 'Locksley...' her expression said.

'Quiet Leena.'

'What are you doing?'

'Finishing the experiment.'

She rolled her eyes at that.

"But that wasn't what _you_ saw," John continued, oblivious, "That wasn't just an ordinary dog."

"No," Sherlock sighed, his gaze distant, "It was immense, had..." he barely stopped his smirk as he glanced at Leena, "Burning red eyes and pitch black fur and it was _glowing_, John. Its whole body was glowing," he shuddered and walked off, "I've got a theory but I need to get back into Baskerville to test it."

"How?" John scoffed, "Can't pull off the ID trick again."

"Might not have to," Sherlock remarked, pulling out his phone and calling out, "Hello, brother dear. How _are_ you?"

He frowned as the phone cut off, Mycroft just _knowing_ that he wanted something.

Leena rolled her eyes and called Mycroft herself, "Stay on the line or I'll tell Sherwood what you spent 200 quid on in the last week," she smirked, mouthing 'chips,' as Mycroft grumbled but stayed on the line, "We need into Baskerville."

~8~

Leena frowned, standing beside Sherlock, as he sat in a chair with his feet up, watching security cameras of John wandering through the labs of Baskerville. Sherlock had sent him off 'in search of the hound' while he spoke to Barrymore with her. The Major hadn't been happy, but Mycroft _had_ agreed to their deal...well...Sherlock had agreed to _Mycroft's_, unhappily though. Now Mycroft was guaranteed an invite to the wedding AND got to walk her down the aisle, since her father was dead and she had no brothers. But the man had agreed in the end and given them access for 24 hours. Sherlock was insistent on trying to make John think there was a hound, to see if a preconceived notion would do anything.

"I'm not happy about this," she told him.

He glanced up at her, "I'll make it up to you," she looked at him, "I promise."

"And how do you intend to do that, Mr. Holmes?"

"I'm sure I'll think of something, Mrs. Holmes."

She smiled.

"What?" he frowned.

"You called me Mrs. Holmes."

"Did I?"

She nodded, "I like it."

He grinned as well, "As do I."

"It just slipped right out, didn't it?" she moved over to kneel beside him, resting her chin on his arm, "A Freudian Slip was it?"

"Certainly not," he leaned in.

"Oh?"

"No. Merely..." he gave her a kiss, "Practice."

She smiled.

…and then Sherlock hit a button that turned the lights off in the labs.

She sighed and looked over, watching as poor John wandered around the now empty labs. Sherlock waited till he came back into the main lab before hitting another switch and turning on a large arch of light, half-blinding the man.

"Oh, no!" they could hear John shout over the speakers which had been left on, "Jesus! Ow!"

He stumbled around and Sherlock hit a button, turning the alarms on, making it seem like something dangerous had happened. John tried to make his way out but the ID card he swiped wasn't working.

"Come on!" he muttered, when Sherlock turned the lights off again, the alarm as well, the emergency lights, a dark red, turned on, "What the..." he pulled out a small torch from his pocket, "Hello?"

"Always prepared, isn't he?" Leena asked, smiling a little at John's resourcefulness.

John moved around the room, towards the cages they'd passed when they'd first had a tour, and pulled a tarp off one that was rattling, the first two were empty, the second's door open, but the third had the monkey inside that screamed and shook the cage, startling John. He moved to the last cage, one that seemed to have had something inside that forced its way out, and…

Sherlock pulled up a microphone, playing a recording of a savage growling.

John spun around, eyes wide, alarmed, flashing his light around, trying to find the source of it, but couldn't see anything. Because, in truth, nothing was there. He quickly moved to a door, trying to get out, but the ID still wasn't working.

"No, come on, come on," he pleaded, swiping again before pulling his mobile out and dialing, "No, you...don't be ridiculous, pick up," he sighed, ending the call, "Oh, damn it!" he looked around, "Right," and made his way cautiously to another door, when Sherlock's recording added the sound of claws tapping the floor.

"Oh sh..." John began, before ducking low and rushing to a door, "Ok…"

Just as he moved to swipe the card the recording snarled.

He spun around, rushing back to a cage and hiding inside one, bolting it and pulling the sheet over him.

"Can we stop now?" Leena glanced at Sherlock, not at all pleased to be doing this to John.

"In a moment," he smirked, enjoying this particular experiment.

"Why?" she shook her head, "We can't see him, he's clearly not going to make a sound to alert whatever he thinks is out there to him..."

He held up his mobile as it rang and put it on speaker, "It's here!" John hissed, his voice quiet but fearful, "It's in here with me."

"Where are you?" Sherlock asked, his smirk growing.

"Get me out, Sherlock. You have got to get me out. The big lab, the first lab that we saw," he whined in terror as another growl played.

"John? John?"

"Now, Sherlock. _Please_."

"Locksley," Leena called quietly, so John wouldn't hear. She shook her head.

He rolled his eyes, sighing, getting up and heading out with her, "Alright, we'll find you. Keep talking."

"I can't," John breathed, "It'll hear me."

"_Keep talking_. What are you seeing? …John?"

"Yes, I'm here."

"What can you see?"

"I don't know. I don't know, but I can _hear_ it. Did you hear that?"

"Stay calm, stay calm," he told John as they entered the lab, "Can you see it? Can you _see_ it?"

"No. I can't...I _can_ see it. It's here. It's _here_."

Sherlock neared the cage that had John inside and tugged the sheet up, Leena switching the lights back on, "Are you alright?" he asked, mock-concerned, opening the cage.

John just stared at him.

"John?" Leena frowned, moving to kneel before him, touching his shoulder.

"Jesus Christ..." John breathed, pulling himself to his feet and getting out of the cage, still panicked, "It was the _hound_, Sherlock. It was _here_. I swear it. It must..." he looked around the bright lab, but saw no sign of it, "It must...did...did...did you see it? You _must_ have!"

"It's alright John," Leena took his arm, "It's ok now."

"_NO IT'S NOT!_" John shouted, his voice high, panicked, fearful, "_IT'S NOT OK! I saw it. I was wrong!_"

Sherlock frowned, he hadn't quite thought of _this_ reaction…he didn't much like people shouting at Leena, "Well, let's not jump to conclusions…" he began.

"What?"

"What did you see?"

"I told you, I saw the hound."

"Huge? Red eyes?"

"Yes."

"Black fur?"

"Yes."

"Glowing?"

"Yeah."

"No."

"What?"

Leena sighed, "He made up the bit about glowing and you saw what you expected to see because he _told_ you," she shook her head, "He thinks you've been drugged. That he's been drugged."

"Drugged?"

"Can you walk?" Sherlock asked suddenly.

John swallowed, "'Course I can walk."

"Come on, then. It's time to lay this ghost," he turned, taking Leena's hand as he headed out, John stumbling after them, following them down the hall to Dr. Stapleton's lab.

They stepped through a door to see her working on a fluffy white rabbit, "Oh," she called, "Back again? What's on your mind this time?"

"Murder, Dr. Stapleton. Refined, cold-blooded murder."

Leena flipped the lights off, the only light coming from the bunny now glowing bright green.

"Will _you_ tell little Kirsty what happened to Bluebell or shall _I_?" Sherlock smirked.

She sighed, "Ok. What do you want?"

"Can I borrow your microscope?"

~8~

Sherlock sat before a microscope, looking into it, now in a much larger lab, though quite unhappy with what he was seeing. He turned and Leena handed him a finely crushed powder to place under the scope. He eyed it again, but sighed, the results were the same.

The sugar wasn't drugged.

Damn.

He turned, muttering quietly to Leena as she jotted down chemical formulas for him with different markers, John and Stapleton sitting off to the side, bored.

Sherlock looked back at the scope, putting a bit of solution on the powder, eyeing it again, before frowning. He pulled the slide out, exasperated, before placing another one in, only to grow equally as frustrated. He snatched it out and hurled it at the wall.

"Sherwood," Leena sighed.

"It's not there!" Sherlock shouted, furious.

She simply walked behind him and squeezed his shoulders, trying to calm him.

"Jesus!" John gasped, startled.

"Nothing there! Doesn't make any sense."

"What were you expecting to find?" Stapleton asked.

He stood up, starting to pace as Leena took his seat on the stool, "A drug, of course. There _has_ to be a drug, a hallucinogenic or a delirient of some kind. There's no trace of _anything_ in the sugar."

"Sugar?" John frowned, Leena looking equally as confused.

"The sugar, yes. It's a simple process of elimination. I saw the hound, saw it as my imagination expected me to see it, a genetically engineered monster. But I knew I couldn't believe the evidence of my own eyes, so there were seven possible reasons for it, the most possible being narcotics. Henry Knight, he saw it too but you didn't, John, nor did Leena. You didn't see it. Now, we have eaten and drunk exactly the same things since we got to Grimpen apart from one thing, you two don't take sugar in your coffee."

"I see. So..."

"I took it from Henry's kitchen, his sugar," he glared at the microscope, "It's perfectly alright."

"But maybe it's not a drug."

"No, it _has_ to be a drug," he moved to the stool, Leena getting up and moving to rub his back comfortingly as he buried his head in his hands, "But how did it get into our systems? _How?_ There has to be something...something...ah, something..." his eyes shot open, "...something buried deep," he turned and pointed at them, "Get out."

"What?" Stapleton scoffed.

"Get out. I need to go to my Mind Palace."

John sagged in his seat, rolling his eyes at that, as Leena smiled.

"Your what?"

But Sherlock had already turned away and stared at the wall.

John got up, "He's not gonna be doing much talking for a while. We may as well go," he turned to the door as Stapleton moved to follow.

"His _what_?"

"Oh, his Mind Palace. It's a memory technique, a sort of mental map. You plot a map with a location, it doesn't have to be a real place, and then you deposit memories there. Theoretically, you can never forget anything, all you have to do is find your way back to it."

"So this imaginary location can be anything, a house or a street."

"Yeah."

"But he said 'palace.' He said it was a _palace_."

"Yeah, well, he _would_, wouldn't he?" they turned to the door when…

"Where are you going?" Sherlock called.

They paused and looked back, confused, before they saw that Leena had moved to follow them.

She turned back to him, smiling, "You said get out. I'm getting out."

He rolled his eyes, "I didn't mean YOU," he reached out a hand to her, knowing she wanted him to say it out loud, "I do my best thinking when you're here."

She grinned and walked back over to him, taking his hand as John and Stapleton left.

Sherlock looked down at her hand, absently playing with it as his mind wandered to his Mind Palace, thinking about the word 'Liberty' and what it could mean, from Liberty pattern to Liberty London to liberté to the Liberty Bell to Liberty Bell March…

Until a quite unexpected notion came to mind.

An image of a baby girl.

He blinked, and straightened on the stool.

Leena frowned, "What is it?"

He just cleared his throat, quite at a loss to explain it, "Nothing," he shook his head, getting back to his thoughts, the idea of the 'hound' creeping into his mind before thinking of 'IN.' All sorts of connections came up, from inns to India to Ingolstadt to Indium. Then back to Hound, thinking of dogs, thinking briefly of Elvis Presley's 'Hound Dog' which Leena had somehow gotten him to keep in his Mind Palace, she'd gone through an Elvis phase much like he'd gone through a Shakespeare phase.

He frowned, pulling the three words together, jolting as the connection hit.

Liberty Indiana, H.O.U.N.D.

He grinned, "Got it."

~8~

Stapleton led the trio along a corridor, swiping her card to get them into Major Barrymore's office.

"John," Sherlock pointed to the door.

"Yeah, I'm on it," he nodded, heading to the door to keep a lookout as Stapleton moved to sit at a computer.

"Project H.O.U.N.D.," Sherlock muttered, "Must have read about it and stored it away. An experiment in a CIA facility in Liberty, Indiana," he turned, quickly kissing Leena's temple, she had made him think of America when she'd mentioned Indiana before. He turned to Stapleton as she typed her ID and password, bringing up a search, "H, O, U, N, D."

She typed it in, but her access was denied, CIA classified, it needed authorization, "That's as far as my access goes, I'm afraid."

"Well, there must be an override and password," John suggested.

"I imagine so, but that'd be Major Barrymore's."

Sherlock spun around and walked through the office, "Password, password, password," he switched on the lights, sitting at the desk, trying to get into the man's mind, figure out his password as Leena pulled out her phone, tapping away on it, "He sat here when he thought it up," he folded his hands, spinning around, looking at everything, "Describe him to me."

"You've seen him."

"But _describe_ him."

"Er, he's a bloody martinet, a throw-back, the sort of man they'd have sent into Suez."

"Good, excellent. Old-fashioned, traditionalist, not the sort that would use his children's names as a password," he gestured to a picture of his children, "He loves his job, proud of it and this is work-related, so what's at eye level?" he scanned everything, "Books," he pointed to them, "Jane's Defense Weekly, bound copies. Hannibal, Wellington, Rommel, Churchill's 'History of the English-Speaking Peoples,' all four volumes," he got up and looked at a bronze bust on a shelf, "Churchill, well, he's fond of Churchill. Copy of 'The Downing Street Years.' One, two, three, four, _five_ separate biographies of Thatcher," he looked at a framed photo of the man and his son, "Mid-1980s at a guess. Father and son, Barrymore senior. Medals, distinguished Service Order."

"That date?" John guessed as Sherlock looked at him, "I'd say Falklands veteran."

"Right. So Thatcher's looking a more likely bet than Churchill," he nodded.

"So that's the password?" Stapleton asked.

"No. With a man like Major Barrymore, only first name terms would do," he turned, about to head to the computer to type in Maggie, when he saw Leena had already logged on and cracked the password.

She turned, smirking at him, and wiggled her phone, "Didn't need to crack it, just hacked it."

He rolled his eyes but moved to lean over her shoulder, watching as she brought up the search on Project HOUND. It was a gruesome experiment, a gas that made people extremely open to suggestion, inspired fear, made them desperate, likely to attack. And then there was a photo of the leaders, five people, the first letters of their last names spelling HOUND.

"HOUND," Stapleton stared in horror as more information came up, about paranoia, frontal lobe damage, blood-brain, trauma, multiple homicides…and a photo of a subject screaming.

"Jesus," John breathed.

Leena closed her eyes and turned away, reciting what she'd gathered from a glance, "Project HOUND: a new delerient drug which rendered its users incredibly suggestible. They wanted to use it as an anti-personnel weapon to totally disorientate the enemy using fear and stimulus, but they shut it down and hid it away in 1986."

"Because of what it did to the subjects they tested it on," Stapleton sighed.

"And what _they_ did to _others_," Leena nodded, opening her eyes when she felt someone squeeze her shoulders, trying to calm her, Sherlock, "Prolonged exposure drove them insane, made them almost uncontrollably aggressive."

"So someone's been doing it again, carrying on the experiments?" John frowned.

"Attempting to refine it, perhaps, for the last twenty years."

"Who?" Stapleton shook her head.

John nodded at the screen, at the names of the leaders, "Those names mean anything to you?"

"No, not a thing."

Sherlock sighed, "Five principal scientists, twenty years ago…" he pulled up the photo and looked at the leaders, all wearing shirts with a vicious hound on it, 'HOUND' printed beneath it with 'Liberty IN,' "Maybe our friend's somewhere in the back of the picture, someone who was old enough to be there at the time of the experiments in 1986..." he stopped, seeing a familiar face and rolled his eyes.

Leena nodded, spotting it as well, "Maybe somebody who says '_cell phone_' because of time spent in America like me. You remember, John?"

"Mhmm," John nodded, thinking of Frankland.

"He gave us his number in case we needed him," Sherlock pulled out the card.

"Oh my God," Stapleton gasped, seeing the man in the photo, "Bob Frankland. But Bob doesn't even work on...I mean, he's a virologist. This was _chemical_ warfare."

"It's where he started, though...and he's never lost the certainty, the obsession that that drug really could work. Nice of him to give us his number. Let's arrange a little meeting," he took Leena's hand and walked away, only for John's phone to ring.

"Hello?" John answered, his eyes widening, hearing someone crying, "Who's this?" he held up a hand to stop them, "It's Louise Mortimer. Louise, what's wrong?" he frowned, hearing that Henry had snapped, taken a gun into the moor, "What? Where…where are you?" he nodded, "Right, stay there. We'll get someone to you, ok?" he lowered the phone.

"Henry?" Leena guessed.

"He's attacked her."

"Gone?" Sherlock asked and John nodded, "There's only one place he'll go to, back to where it all started.

Leena grabbed her phone, "Greg? Get to Dewer's Hollow, now. And bring me a rifle."

~8~

They made it to the moor, just in time to see Henry moving to put his pistol in his mouth.

"No, Henry, no!" Sherlock shouted as they scrambled down the slope of the Hollow, their torches aimed at him, "No!"

Henry stood up and backed away, waving the pistol in their direction, "Get back!" he shouted, sounding hysterical, "Get…get away from me!"

"Easy, Henry," Leena held up her hands, "Easy. Just relax."

"I know what I am. I know what I tried to do!"

"Just put the gun down," she continued gently, "It's ok."

"No, no, I _know_ what I am!"

"Yes, I'm sure you do Henry," she nodded, "It's all been explained to you, hasn't it? Explained _very_ carefully."

"What?" he paused.

She nodded, seeing him starting calm, the boys keeping quiet, letting her work, knowing she had experience talking people down from using guns at the BAU, "Someone needed to keep you quiet, needed to keep you as a child to reassert the dream that you'd both clung onto, because you had started to _remember_," she took a step closer to him, "Remember now, Henry. You've _got_ to remember what happened here when you were a little boy."

Henry's hand drooped a moment before he raised it again, fearful, "I thought it had got my dad, the hound. I thought..." he frowned, screaming as he tried to remember, "Oh Je...oh Jesus, I don't…_I don't know anymore!_" he fell to his knees, sobbing, bending to put the gun in his mouth again.

"No! Henry don't," she tried, getting his attention, "Remember. 'Liberty IN.' Two words, two words a frightened little boy saw here twenty years ago," Henry started to calm again but didn't move the gun away, "You'd started to piece things together, remember what _really_ happened here that night. It wasn't an animal, was it Henry?" Henry blinked, "Not a monster," and looked at her, "It was a _man_," Henry gasped, realizing the truth, "You couldn't cope. You were just a _child_, so you rationalized it into something very different. But then you started to remember, so you had to be stopped, driven out of your mind so that no one would believe a word that you said," she stepped closer and held out her hand, kneeling before him, waiting, sniffling as her nose stuffed up a bit more from speaking so long.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade called, catching up with them, "Jackie!"

"It's ok Henry," she held out her hand for the gun and he slowly handed it over.

"But we saw it," he looked at Sherlock, "The hound, last night. We s...we…we…we _did_, we saw ..."

"Yeah," Sherlock nodded, admitting it now, "But there _was_ a dog Henry, leaving footprints, scaring witnesses, but it was nothing more than an ordinary dog. We both saw it, saw it as our drugged minds wanted us to see it. Fear and stimulus, that's how it works," Henry stared in confusion, "But there never was any monster."

Leena stood up, Henry's gun in her hand, thinking about the man who had done this to Henry, "Depends on your definition of monster."

Before anyone could comment, a howl rang out.

Their heads snapped up, John and Lestrade flashing their lights on a low shape stalking the ring of the clearing, snarling.

"Sherlock..." John began as Sherlock stared at the dog in disbelief.

"No," Henry began to pant, frantic, "No, no, no, no!"

"Henry," Leena turned to the boy, "Henry calm down..."

"Sherlock..." John called, the creature moving by the hollow.

Henry collapsed, crying 'No!'

The hound suddenly turned and snarled at them, its eyes seeming to glow in the torchlight.

"Shit!" Lestrade breathed.

Leena looked over, frowning as the men stared at the dog. She could _just_ make it out in the darkness, it was a _dog_. Average as could be, if a bit big.

"Greg, are you seeing this?" John asked, Lestrade nodded, staring in horror, "Right, he is _not_ drugged, Sherlock, so what's that? _What is it?!_"

Leena looked around, seeing John growing frantic, Lestrade even seeming scared of the simple dog.

"Alright!" Sherlock shook his head, looking around and back, "It's still here..." he panted a bit, trying to get himself together, "...but it's just a dog. Henry! It's nothing more than an ordinary dog!"

The hound let out a howl, Lestrade stumbling back, "Oh my _God_."

Leena looked around, watching the men grow terrified and then she heard something, a crack. She looked back to see someone wearing a gasmask, her eyes widened, the fog...

"It's not you!" Sherlock shouted, staring at the man as well, clearly hallucinating that the man was someone else, "_You're not here!_"

"Sherlock!" she yelled as the man tackled the gas-masked person, "It's the fog!" she shouted as he ripped the man's mask off to reveal Frankland.

"What?" John called.

"It's the fog! The drug, it's _in_ the fog! Aerosol dispersal, that's what it said in those records. Project HOUND, it's the fog! A chemical minefield!"

The men quickly covered their noses, Leena safe with her stuffy one. She turned to fire at the hound as it attacked, only wounding it as it was just a dog.

Sherlock, however, grabbed Henry and tried to drag him over, "Look at it, Henry."

"No, no, no!" he struggled.

Sherlock shoved him on, "Come on, _look_ at it!" he held the man down, shining his torch on the dog, a large one, but _just _a dog.

Henry stared at it, before turning to Frankland, stunned, "It's just...you _bastard_!" he hurled himself at the man, screaming in rage, "You _bastard_!" he whaled on him, "_Twenty years_! Twenty years of my life making no sense! Why didn't you just kill me?!"

The men finally pulled him off, "Because dead men get listened to," Sherlock explained.

"He needed to do _more_ than kill you," Leena added, "He had to discredit _every_ word you _ever_ said about your father, and he had the means right at his feet, a chemical minefield, pressure pads in the ground dosing you up every time that you came back here."

"Murder weapon _and_ scene of the crime all at once," Sherlock held his arms out, laughing, "Oh, this case, Henry! Thank you. It's been brilliant."

"Sherlock..." John sighed.

"What?"

"Timing," Leena reminded him.

"Not good?" he guessed.

"No."

"It's…it's ok," Henry panted, calming, "It's fine, because this means..." he walked over to Frankland, "This means that my dad was _right__,_" he took another step towards the man but John and Lestrade held him back, "He found something out, didn't he? And _that's_ why you'd killed him, because he was _right_, and he'd found you right in the middle of an experiment."

Frankland got to his feet, when the dog snarled again, getting up. John quickly turned and fired at it, giving Frankland time to run. Sherlock ran after him, Leena after him, John and Lestrade exchanging a glance before darting after the both of them with Henry behind them.

"Frankland!" Sherlock shouted as the man ran through the woods, "Frankland! It's no use, Frankland!"

They reached the barbed wire of the minefield, Frankland jumping over it and running...only to fall to the ground, his feet tangled. He stood up, his foot thumping on a mine and clicking. He stared down at it as the others ran up. He raised his head and sighed, before pulling his foot up, the others ducking back as it exploded.

Henry sank down against a tree as Sherlock just gazed at the minefield.

~8~

Outside the inn the next morning, John sat at an outdoor table, Leena walking over with breakfast and setting it down before him as she sat down beside him, she still felt awful for what Sherlock had done.

"Mmm," he smiled, "Thanks."

Sherlock brought of over three mugs, setting them down and sitting himself, "So they didn't have it put down, then, the dog."

"Obviously," John agreed, tucking in, "Suppose they just couldn't bring themselves to do it."

"I see."

Leena smiled, nudging him, "No you don't."

"No, I don't," he agreed, "Sentiment?"

"Sentiment!" John nodded.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Oh."

"Listen, what happened to me in the lab?"

Sherlock looked at him a moment before grabbing a box of sauce packets, "D'you want some sauce with that?"

"You're deflecting," Leena remarked in a sing-song voice, stealing a bit of bacon from John's plate.

"I hadn't been to the Hollow, so how come I heard those things in there?" John continued, "Fear and stimulus, you said."

Sherlock rummaged through the sauce packets, "You must have been dosed with it elsewhere, when you went to the lab, maybe. You saw those pipes, pretty ancient, leaky as a sieve, and they were carrying the gas, so...um, ketchup, was it? Or brown..."

John looked up, recalling the coffee Sherlock had given him, the one he'd tasted _sugar_ in, "Hang on…you thought it was in the sugar," he turned to Sherlock as the man stared at him, "You were _convinced_ it was in the sugar."

Sherlock looked away, "Better get going, actually," he glanced at his watch, "There's a train that leaves in half an hour, so if you want..."

"Oh God. It was you. _You_ locked me in that bloody lab."

"I _had_ to."

He turned to Leena, "You_ let_ him!"

"It was an experiment," she sighed, "There's no stopping his experiments, believe me John, I've tried. It's why I left my cat with my friend JJ and her son Henry."

"An _experiment_?!"

Sherlock looked at the people looking over, "Shh."

John glowered, "I was _terrified_, Sherlock. I was _scared_ to _death_."

"I thought that the drug was in the sugar, so I put the sugar in your coffee, then I arranged everything with Major Barrymore," he looked at John as the man sighed, "It was all _totally_ scientific, laboratory conditions, well, _literally. _Well, I knew what effect it had had on a superior mind, so I needed to try it on an average one," John glared, "You know what I mean."

"Why not use Jackie then?"

"Because if he doesn't want his precious brain beaten in, he'd leave me be," she stated.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "I said AVERAGE mind," he repeated.

She grinned, "That was almost an _actual_ compliment," and not one in Sherlockish.

"A compliment to you, an insult to me," John muttered, "This is shaping up to be the start of a good day for him, isn't it?"

"He's actually complimenting you too, John," Leena added as he looked at her, "He thinks everyone is an idiot, so being average is a step up."

He sighed, but smiled at that, trusting the woman fluent in Sherlockish, "But it wasn't _in_ the sugar."

"No, well, I wasn't to know you'd already been exposed to the gas," Sherlock shrugged.

His grin grew wider, "So you got it wrong."

"No."

"Mmm. You were wrong. It _wasn't_ in the sugar. You got it _wrong_."

"A bit. It won't happen again."

"Any long term effects?"

"None at all," Leena assured him, "You'll be fine once you've excreted it. You both will."

"Think I might have taken care of that already."

Sherlock snorted in laughter before putting his mug down and heading over to Gary.

"Where're you going?"

"Won't be a minute. Gotta see a man about a dog."

"We should get a dog!" Leena shouted, laughing at the sour expression on Sherlock's face.

One day, she'd have it all, a family, a home, a dog, and she'd have it all with Sherlock.

She couldn't wait.

A/N: I tried to add a little fluff to this chapter, but keep it within Sherlock's nature. How sweet was that little moment when Sherlock called her Mrs. Holmes :) Awww. But it's so sad because we all know what's coming next, don't we? The epic fall…

In other news, congrats to sailormajinmoon for spotting the Girl in the Fireplace reference, Leena springing a kiss on Sherlock up against the fireplace :) That reference was really subtle, but this chapter, though, was definitely more obvious in the 'Sherlock Holmes' movie reference, virtual cookie to those who spot it :)


	5. The Reichenbach Fall: The Lie

The Reichenbach Fall: The Lie

John Watson sat in a chair before his therapist, staring at the rain as it poured outside, the thunder rumbling. He looked tired, so…pained.

"Why today?" his therapist asked

He looked at her and frowned, "D'you want to hear me say it?"

"Eighteen months since our last appointment," she remarked, looking at her records.

He glared at her, "D'you read the papers?"

"Sometimes."

"Mmm, and you watch telly? You _know_ why I'm here," he swallowed hard, "I'm here because..." his voice broke and he struggled to continue, looking away, trying so hard not to break down completely. He had to be strong, not just for him but for…

"What happened, John?"

He closed his eyes, taking a breath, "Sher..." he cleared his throat.

"You need to get it out," she said gently.

"My best friend...Sherlock Holmes…" he said quietly, sniffling, "...is dead. And…" he blinked quickly, starting to cry, "Jackie…she's…she's a wreck without him…"

He closed his eyes tightly, tears falling as he thought on her pain as well.

~8~

_Three Months Earlier…_

Sherlock Holmes stood beside his fiancé in an art gallery with John, beside a painting, listening absently as the director spoke to a crowd of patrons and press, "'Falls of the Reichenbach,' Turner's masterpiece, thankfully recovered, owing to the prodigious talent of Mr. Sherlock Holmes," the crowd applauded as the director handed Sherlock a wrapped gift, "A small token of our gratitude."

Sherlock took the box and looked at it, "Diamond cufflinks. All my cuffs have buttons."

"He means thank you," John said to the director.

"Do I?"

"Just say it," John sighed.

"Thank you," Sherlock said, quite insincerely, before turning to walk away, only for John to pull him back as the press took photos, making him grimace.

"Well done Sherwood," Leena smiled, giving him a kiss on the cheek, which made him smile for the very last picture.

That paper spread like wildfire, hailing him as the 'Hero of the Reichenbach,' claiming he'd solved it as a hobby, when the police at Scotland Yard couldn't.

And that was just the start.

~8~

A rather famous banker had been kidnapped and Sherlock had solved the case, with some help from Leena in profiling the kidnapper. The papers had a field day with it, making him out to be a hero again. Which led to them standing before the banker's house, the rescued man with his arms around his wife and son as the press continued to capture the moment, "Back together with my family after my terrifying ordeal, and we have one person to thank for my deliverance," he smiled, "Sherlock Holmes."

The crowd applauded as the little boy offered Sherlock a gift.

"Tie pin," Sherlock muttered after shaking the box, "I don't wear ties."

"Shh," John whispered as Leena laughed.

~8~

And then there was the Ricoletti case, an infamous man on the Most Wanted list who, of course, had been taken down by Sherlock. Scotland Yard had, of course, called a press conference about it, delighting in the fact they got to force Sherlock to come.

"Peter Ricoletti," Lestrade called to the press, "Number one on Interpol's Most Wanted list since 1982. But we got him, and there's one person we have to thank for giving us the decisive leads...with all his customary diplomacy and tact," Lestrade added with a joke.

Sherlock just smiled insincerely.

"Sarcasm," John told him quietly.

"Yes," he nodded.

The press applauded as Lestrade walked over and handed him a package, smiling, "We all chipped in."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and tore it open, Donovan and Anderson smiling expectantly as he pulled out a deerstalker hat, "Oh!" he grimaced in a smile.

"Put the hat on!" the press began to cheer.

"Yeah, Sherlock, put it on!" Lestrade laughed.

Sherlock glared at the reporters as though he were about to kill them, when John cleared his throat, "Just get it over with."

Leena smiled, "Don't worry Sherwood," she pulled out a wool cat-hat of her own and put it on. He grinned and put his hat on as well as the press went wild at Hatman and Catwoman.

"How'd you know?" he asked her quietly.

She wiggled her phone, "I've been monitoring Donovan and Anderson's transactions. I saw them order this," she grimaced, "Believe you me, you _don't_ want to know some of the other things they've ordered."

He could only shake his head, leave it to her to not leave him feeling singled out.

~8~

It went on and on, Sherlock solving more and more cases, gaining more and more fame…the press coming up with more and more ridiculous names for him. Which was why he was grimacing as he stood beside John, sitting in 221B Baker Street, reading the paper titled 'Boffin Sherlock Holmes.'

"'Boffin,'" Sherlock scoffed, throwing the newspaper onto the table, wrapping his robe around himself in irritation, "'Boffin Sherlock Holmes.'"

Leena just laughed as she walked over to the kettle, putting it on, her own light blue gown hanging open around her.

"Everybody gets _one_," John told him.

"One what?"

"Tabloid nickname…'SuBo,' 'Nasty Nick,' shouldn't worry, I'll probably get one soon."

"Page five, column six, first sentence," he called as John turned to that page, Sherlock moving to the fireplace, picking up the deerstalker and punching it angrily, "Why is it always the hat photograph?"

John smirked at the newspaper, before grimacing, "'_Bachelor_ John Watson?'"

"What sort of hat is it anyway?"

"'Bachelor?' What the hell are they implying?"

Sherlock twisted the hat back and forth quickly, "Is it a cap? Why has it got two fronts?"

"It's called a deerstalker Sherwood," Leena walked over.

"'Frequently seen in the company of bachelor John Watson...'" John muttered.

"You stalk a deer with a _hat_?" Sherlock shook his head, "What are you gonna do, throw it?"

"'..._confirmed_ bachelor John Watson'

"Some sort of death frisbee?"

"Ok, this is too much."

"It's got flaps...ear flaps. It's an _ear_ hat," he tossed it onto Leena's head.

She laughed, tipping it at him, not at all bothered by it, before she plucked it off her head and dropped it on 'Yorrick,' moving to the sofa.

"Why isn't HE the bachelor," John remarked, pointing at Sherlock.

"Isn't it obvious?" she remarked, holding up her ring hand, "Even the photographers can't miss a ring."

John sighed, "We need to be more careful."

"What do you mean, 'more careful?'" Sherlock turned to him, sitting beside Leena on the sofa.

John looked up, trying his best to fight the smile about to grow on his face at the sight. Sherlock was sitting on the sofa, Leena on its arm, his arm casually around her as though he didn't even realize it was. It was...oddly nice…to see Sherlock looking so human.

"I mean this isn't a deerstalker now, it's a Sherlock Holmes hat. I mean that you're not exactly a _private_ detective anymore," he explained, holding his thumb and forefinger an inch apart, "You're _this _far from famous."

"Oh, it'll pass," he waved him off before turning on the sofa, tugging Leena onto the seat so he could rest his head on her lap, his feet up on the other end, hands pressed together like a prayer as he pressed them to his mouth.

Leena just rolled her eyes and ran a hand through his hair absently.

"It'd _better_ pass. The press _will_ turn, Sherlock. They _always_ turn, and they'll turn on _you_."

Sherlock turned his head to peer at John, "It really bothers you."

"What?"

"What people say."

"Yes."

"About me? I don't understand, why would it upset _you_?"

John just stared at him a moment before looking away, "Just try to keep a low profile. Find yourself a _little_ case this week. Stay _out_ of the news," he sighed, getting up to turn the kettle off as it whistled.

"He's just worried about you Locksley," Leena murmured, "He's your friend. He doesn't want to see you get backlashed by the media."

He scoffed, "I didn't want the media in the first place," he looked at her, "The only coverage I want is for our wedding."

She smiled softly at him, tilting her head, "You've surprised me you know."

"Oh?" he glanced at her, "How so?"

"All this talk of our wedding," she shook her head, "I know you better than anyone and...I truly _didn't_ think you'd ever...love me," she admitted quietly, "And I never thought in a million years that you, of all people, would divorce your work just so you could ask me to _marry_ you," she gave a little laugh at the joke that he was married to his work, "And now look at you, talking about wedding cakes, planning to have Mycroft walk me down the aisle, wanting media coverage..." she smiled, "You really have surprised me Locksley. This typically isn't like you."

He reached out, taking her right hand that was just resting on his chest, "You once told John that I was 'it' for you," he smirked, seeing her blush, embarassed that he knew that, "The feeling is mutual Leena," he shifted his head as she looked at him, "I have always been a selfish man, I hate it when people take away what's mine. This wedding, this will make you mine forever and everyone will know it."

She had to smile at that, _that_ was more Sherlock Holmes.

~8~

Later on, Sherlock sat at the table in the kitchen, looking through a microscope as Leena laid on the sofa, reading a book, when John came in from his shower, "It's your phone," he pointed at the mobile on the table as it vibrated and pinged.

"Mmm," he mumbled, uninterested, "Keeps doing that."

John looked at Leena, "He told me to ignore it," she shrugged, turning a page.

He rolled his eyes and walked into the sitting room, pausing when he saw a mannequin hanging from its neck from the ceiling and sat in his armchair, picking up a newspaper, "So, did Sherlock just talk to him for a _really_ long time?" he gestured at the body.

Leena gave a little smile, "Apparently Henry Fishgard never committed suicide."

Sherlock picked up a book from the table and shut it, sending dust into the air, "Bow Street Runners, missed everything."

"Pressing case, is it?" John glanced over.

"They're all pressing 'til they're solved."

The phone pinged again so John lowered the newspaper, he'd heard it from the shower for the last ten minutes, and sighed, "I'll get it, shall I?"

He walked over to the phone and picked it up, looking at the message as his face turned to shock.

"John?" Leena called, spotting his expression, "What is it?"

He just handed her the mobile, knowing she'd be able to get Sherlock's attention.

Her eyes widened at the message, "Sherwood..." she called, hurrying over to the kitchen.

"Not now, I'm busy," he mumbled.

"Sherwood."

"Not now dear."

"Sherlock!"

He looked up at that, she hardly _ever_ used his name unless it was important, "What?" she handed him the phone.

_Come and play.  
Tower Hill.  
_**Jim Moriarty x**

His eyes widened as he looked at John and Leena in shock.

~8~

The trio stood in the Tower of London, watching the security footage of Moriarty breaking into the crown jewels display…apparently at the same time that the Bank of England and Pentonville Prison were also broken into. They watched as the man stood before the display, sticking his gum to the glass before pressing a diamond into it.

"That glass is tougher than anything," Lestrade remarked.

"Not tougher than crystallized carbon," Sherlock stated.

"He used a diamond," Leena explained as the man bashed a fire extinguisher against the diamond, shattering the glass.

Lestrade changed the angle, showing them the words the man had written on it in reverse before it shattered.

_GET SHERLOCK_

With a smiley face in the O.

Leena tensed at the message, Sherlock glancing at her before taking her hand, squeezing it in comfort as John turned to stare at them, concerned.

~8~

They were calling it the crime of the century, all the papers were, people going mad with the news of the three break-ins and how the criminal involved had requested Sherlock Holmes.

John stood in front of the mirror in 221B Baker Street, wearing a suit, Leena doing his tie for him as he put his jacket on. Sherlock was by the sofa, putting on his own jacket, no tie, he didn't wear ties, before he led the way downstairs and to the front door. He stopped, turning to the others as they heard the press outside.

"Ready?" John asked, taking the lead.

"Yes," Sherlock replied, taking Leena's hand and stepping out after John, making sure he was in front of her to block most of the flashing lights as they pushed their way to the police car at the end of the path, people crowded around, trying to shout and call out questions.

They quickly got in, the car taking off to bring them to the court, the Old Bailey.

"Remember..." John began.

"Yes," Sherlock said instantly.

"Sherwood," Leena shook her head for him to let John finish.

"Remember..." John began insistently.

"Yes!" he said just as quick.

"Remember what they told you," John said quickly, getting it out, "Don't try to be clever..."

"No."

"...and _please_, just keep it _simple_ and_ brief_."

"God forbid the star witness at the trial should come across as intelligent."

"'Intelligent?' Fine. Let's give 'smart-arse' a wide berth."

Sherlock sighed, "I'll just be myself."

"Are you _listening _to me?!" John asked, irritated.

"What's wrong with being myself?"

"Absolutely nothing," Leena leaned over and kissed his cheek. She could tell he was worried. The profile for Moriarty...he wouldn't let himself get caught if he didn't have another more heinous plan in the works.

Sherlock squeezed her hand in thanks, she always understood him.

~8~

Sherlock stood in the men's toilet of the Old Bailey, washing his hands, when he heard the tannoy announce, "Crown versus Moriarty, please proceed to Court Ten."

As he turned off the tap he noticed a woman standing before him wearing a deerstalker hat, staring at him, wide eyed, amazed, as her bag slipped out of her hand and to the floor, "You're _him_," she breathed.

Sherlock sneered, seeing she also had an 'I heart Sherlock' badge on, "Wrong toilet."

"I'm a _big_ fan."

"Evidently."

"I read your cases, follow them all," she stepped closer, staring at him with adoration, "Sign my shirt, would you?" she peeled back her coat to reveal her white blouse was open quiet low. She smiled, offering him a pen.

He just stared, "There are two types of fans."

"Oh?"

"'Catch me before I kill again,' Type A..."

"Uh huh. What's Type B?"

"'Your bedroom's just a taxi ride away.'"

She grinned widely, "Guess which one I am."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "My fiancé hates the Type B and I'm inclined to agree," he sneered at her, before eyeing her quickly, noting the pressure-marks on her wrists, the recorder in her pocket, the self-inflicted ink stains, "But you are neither."

She blinked, nervous, "Really?"

"No. You're not a fan _at all_," he nodded at the lines on her wrist, "Those marks on your forearm, edge of a desk. You've been typing, in a hurry probably. Pressure on, facing a deadline."

"That all?" she looked away.

"And there's a smudge of ink on your wrist and a bulge in your left jacket pocket," he pointed at the Dictaphone with the red light shining, peeking out of her pocket.

"Bit of a giveaway," she muttered.

"The smudge is deliberate, to see if I'm as good as they say I am," he lifted her hand and sniffed the ink on her wrist, "Hmm. Oil based, used in newspaper print, but drawn on with an index finger, _your_ finger. Journalist. Unlikely you'd get your hands dirty at the press. You put that there to test me."

"Wow, I'm liking you!"

"You mean I'd make a great feature, 'Sherlock Holmes, the man beneath the hat.'"

"Kitty..." she took her hat off, "...Riley. Pleased to meet you," she held out her hand.

"No. I'm just saving you the trouble of asking. No, I won't give you an interview. No, I don't want the money," he pushed past her, heading for the door.

"Your impending nuptials, for show? You and John Watson, just platonic?" she asked quickly, rushing after him, "Can I put you down for a 'no' on that last one, as well?" she stopped him from opening the door and put herself in his way, "There's all sorts of gossip in the press about you. Sooner or later you're gonna need someone on your side..." she reached in her pocket and held out a card to him, tucking it in his breast pocket, "...someone to set the record straight."

He smiled sarcastically at her, "And you think you're the girl for that job, do you?"

"I'm smart, and you can trust me, totally."

"Smart, ok, investigative journalist. Good. Well, look at me and tell me what you see," she stared at him blankly, "If you're _that_ skillful, you don't need an interview. You can just _read_ what you need," she looked awkwardly at him, looking down, "No? Ok, my turn," he paced around her, before speaking quickly, "I look at you and I see someone who's still waiting for their first big scoop so that their editor will notice them. You're wearing an expensive skirt but it's been re-hemmed _twice_, only posh skirt you've got. And your nails, you can't afford to do them that often. I see someone who's hungry. I don't see smart, and I _definitely_ don't see trustworthy, that's my fiancé Leena, most certainly not _you_. But I'll give you a quote if you like, three little words," he pulled the Dictaphone from her pocket and held it to his mouth as she stared up, hopeful, "You..._repel_...me," he stepped to the door, "And Leena wouldn't appreciate the 'John and I' scoop."

And with that, he turned and left the room.

She let out a breath, before turning to the door, pressing her ear against it when she heard someone speak to Sherlock Holmes, "Let me guess," a young woman remarked, "Desperate investigative journalist?"

"You're getting better at that," Sherlock commented before their footsteps faded.

~8~

Sherlock sat in the witness box, ready to give his evidence as Moriarty sat across from him, nonchalantly chewing a piece of gum, as John sat in the public gallery upstairs, Leena sitting downstairs as she was to be called as an expert witness in terms of profiling the criminal.

"A 'consulting criminal?'" the prosecuting barrister scoffed.

"Yes," Sherlock replied.

"Your words. Can you expand on that answer?"

"James Moriarty is for hire."

"A tradesman?"

"Yes."

"But not the sort who'd fix your heating."

"No, the sort who'd plant a bomb or stage an assassination, but I'm sure he'd make a pretty decent job of your boiler."

The prosecuting barrister tried to hide her smile as a few chuckles sounded, "Would you describe him as..."

"Leading," Sherlock interrupted.

"What?"

"Can't do that. You're leading the witness," he looked at the defending barrister, "He'll object and the judge will uphold."

The judge looked exasperated, this was not the first time Sherlock had done that through the trial, "Mr. Holmes…"

"Ask me how," Sherlock continued to the prosecuting barrister, "_How_ would I describe him? What opinion have I formed of him? Do they not teach you this?"

"Mr. Holmes, we're fine without your help."

"_How_ would you describe this man, his character?" the barrister corrected.

"First mistake," Sherlock looked at Moriarty, "James Moriarty _isn't_ a man at all, he's a _spider_, a spider at the center of a web, a criminal web with a thousand threads and he knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances."

Moriarty smirked and nodded, pleased with the description.

The barrister cleared her throat, awkward, "And how long..."

Sherlock closed his eyes in exasperation, "No, no, don't…don't _do_ that. That's really_ not_ a good question."

"Mr. Holmes!" the judge cut in, angry now, at the end of his rope.

"How long have I known him? Not really your best line of enquiry. We met twice, five minutes in total. I pulled a gun, he tried to blow me up."

"Miss Sorrel, are you seriously claiming this man is an _expert_, after knowing the accused for just _five minutes_?"

"Two minutes would have made me an expert. Five was ample."

Leena smirked at that, just knowing what was about to come out of it, knowing John was probably rolling his eyes thinking 'oh shit' right about now.

"Mr. Holmes, that's a matter for the jury."

"Oh, really?" Sherlock looked at the twelve people in the jury box, "One librarian, two teachers, two high-pressured jobs, probably the city," he squinted at a woman on the left front row, a notebook before her as she wrote shorthand, "The foreman's a medical secretary, trained abroad judging by her shorthand."

"Mr. Holmes!"

He scanned the rings on the jury's fingers, "Seven are married and two are having an affair…with each other, it would seem! Oh, and they've just had tea and biscuits," he turned to the judge, "Would you like to know who ate the wafer?"

"Mr. Holmes, you've been called here to answer Miss Sorrel's questions, not to give us a display of your intellectual prowess."

Sherlock couldn't help but smile at that before looking over at Leena, who gave him a look, 'What is it?'

He smirked, she knew him so well, she _knew_ he was_ purposefully_ trying to get himself removed, 'Distract them.'

'How?'

He nodded at Moriarty, 'Profile.'

'How long?'

'Long as you can.'

She smirked, excellent, and nodded.

"Keep your answers brief and to the point," the judge continued, "Anything else will be treated as contempt. Do you think you could survive for just a few minutes _without showing off_?"

Sherlock looked at Leena as she shook her head, 'Worst question ever.'

He nodded, 'I agree.'

Before opening his mouth...

~8~

Leena and John stood outside the holding rooms, Sherlock had been removed from the courtroom while Leena had been called up to give her 'expert testimony' against Moriarty, the man being taken out of the room as well as they wanted the jury to see the profile she'd written up during the bombing incidents and how well they matched the man without him present.

Sherlock had been placed into a cell just beside Moriarty's, but been released once Leena had finished.

"What did I say?" John sighed, crossing his arms as Sherlock sighed for his personal items, "I said, 'Don't get clever.'"

"He can't help who he is," Leena smiled, kissing his cheek.

"Well?" Sherlock smirked at that but looked at John.

"Well what?" he frowned.

"You were there for the whole thing, up in the gallery, start to finish."

"Like you said it would be...the defending barrister sat on his backside, never even stirred."

"Moriarty's not mounting any defense," Leena frowned, "He's up to something."

~8~

"Bank of England, Tower of London, Pentonville," John sighed as they entered 221B Baker Street later that day, "Three of the most secure places in the country and six weeks ago Moriarty breaks in, no one knows how or why," he plopped down on his armchair as Sherlock began to pace, Leena moving to the sofa, "All we know is..."

"...he ended up in custody," Sherlock stopped and turned to John.

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"The look Sherwood," Leena explained.

"Look?"

"You're doing the look again," John nodded.

"Well, I can't see it, can I?"

John pointed to the mirror and Sherlock looked at it, seeing his reflection, "It's my face."

"Yes, and it's doing a thing."

"It's your 'we both know what's really going on here' face," Leena added.

"Well, we _do_."

"No," John rolled his eyes, "_I_ don't, which is why I find 'The Face' so annoying and Jackie finds it so amusing."

Leena reached out and put a hand on John's arm, explaining, "If Moriarty wanted the Jewels, he'd have them. If he wanted those prisoners free, they'd be out on the streets. The only reason he's still in a prison cell right now is because he _chose_ to be there."

Sherlock started pacing again, "Somehow this is part of his scheme."

~8~

Court had let out a short while ago, the verdict determined, John had gone to see what it would be while Leena and Sherlock remained in the sitting room of 221B Baker Street, both _knowing_ what that verdict would be.

Not Guilty.

Which was why Sherlock was puttering around, getting a small tray of tea ready, placing it on the table beside the armchairs before playing his violin as Leena stood at the window keeping watch.

"He's here," she called as he began to play Bach's 'Sonata Number 1 in G minor,' more to calm Leena than anything. She loved classical music, especially Bach.

He looked at the stairs when he heard the door open and someone come up them and step into the room. He stopped and looked at Moriarty, "Most people knock," he shrugged, "But then you're not most people, I suppose," he gestured at the chair, "Kettle's just boiled."

Moriarty entered the room, picking up an apple from a bowl and tossing it, "Johann Sebastian would be appalled," he remarked, looking around the room before nodding at the seat across from Sherlock, though his attention was on Leena, "May I? Wouldn't want to offend the missus."

"By all means," she muttered, turning around to sit on the windowsill, watching them, her arms crossed.

He smirked and sat down, taking out a small penknife to cut the apple as Sherlock set down the violin and poured some tea, "You know when he was on his death bed, Bach, he..."

"Heard his son at the piano playing one of his pieces," Leena cut in, "The boy stopped before he got to the end."

"…and the dying man jumped out of his bed, ran straight to the piano and finished it," Sherlock finished as Moriarty glared at Leena for interrupting, making a conversation between him and Sherlock one between her and him.

"Couldn't cope with an unfinished melody," Moriarty remarked.

"Neither can you," Leena eyed him.

Sherlock nodded, "That's why you've come."

"But be honest, you're just a tiny bit pleased," Moriarty smiled at Sherlock.

"What, with the verdict?" he picked up a cup, adding some milk before offering it to Moriarty.

"With _me_..." he said softly, "Back on the streets. Every fairytale needs a good old-fashioned villain. You _need_ me, or you're _nothing_. Because we're just alike, you and I, except you're boring," he shook his head, disappointed, before nodding at Leena, "You're on the side of the angels," he smirked, "But even angels can have their wings _broken_."

Sherlock tensed at that, glancing at Leena, concerned and worried. Moriarty had already made it clear he wanted Leena out of the picture at the pool, threatening to burn his heart out, knowing full well Leena _was_ his heart.

"Got to the jury, of course," he changed the subject.

"I got into the Tower of London, you think I can't worm my way into twelve hotel rooms?"

"Cable network," Leena mumbled, turning to look out the window again.

"Very good," Moriarty nodded, "Every hotel bedroom has a personalized TV screen..." he smirked, thinking about the people, the families he'd kidnapped to threaten the jury with, "...and every person has their pressure point, someone that they want to protect from harm," he glanced at Leena again, "Easy-peasy."

"So how're you going to do it…_burn me_?" he needed to know what the man was planning, analyze him, deduce him, so he could stop him, stop him from hurting Leena, or John.

"Oh, that's the problem," Moriarty sighed, "The final problem. Have you worked out what it is yet? What's the final problem? I _did _tell you..." he sang a little, "...but did you _listen_?" he took another sip of tea and put the cup down, resting his hand on his knees as he drummed his fingers a moment, "How hard do you find it, having to say 'I don't know?'"

Sherlock put his own cup down and shrugged, "I dunno."

"Oh, that's clever, that's very clever, _awfully_ clever," he chuckled, "Speaking of clever, have you told your little friends yet?" he nodded back at Leena.

"Told them what?"

"Why I broke into all those places and never took anything."

"No."

"But _you_ understand."

"Obviously."

"As does your little girlfriend then?"

"Of course."

"Off you go, then," he carved a piece of the apple and put it in his mouth.

"You want me to tell you what you already know?"

"No, I want you to _prove_ that you know it."

"You didn't take anything because you don't _need_ to."

"Good."

"You'll never need to take anything ever again."

"Very good. Because..."

"Because nothing..._n__othing_ in the Bank of England, the Tower of London, or Pentonville Prison could possibly match the value of the key that could get you into all three."

"I can open any door anywhere with a few tiny lines of computer code. No such thing as a private bank account now, they're all mine. No such thing as secrecy, I _own_ secrecy. Nuclear codes, I could blow up NATO in alphabetical order. In a world of locked rooms, the man with the key is king, and honey, you should _see_ me in a crown," he smiled.

"You were advertising all the way through the trial. You were showing the world what you can do."

"And you were helping. Big client list, rogue governments, intelligence communities...terrorist cells. They all want me," he ate another slice of apple, "Suddenly, I'm Mr. Sex."

Leena scoffed, "You don't own a purple shirt."

Sherlock smirked at that, "If you could break any bank, what do you care about the highest bidder?"

"I don't," Moriarty shook his head, "I just like to watch them all competing. 'Daddy loves _me_ the best!' Aren't ordinary people adorable? Well, you know, you've got John and a bitch. I should get myself a live-in one."

Sherlock's jaw tensed at the insult to Leena, but refrained from saying anything, needing more information, knowing Leena would understand why he didn't defend her, "Why _are_ you doing all of this?"

"It'd be so funny..." he remarked, still thinking of a live-in.

"You don't want money or power, not really. What _is_ it all for?"

"I want to solve the problem, _our_ problem, the final problem. It's gonna start very soon, Sherlock, the fall," he whistled a descending note, "But don't be scared. Falling's just like flying except there's a more permanent destination," before making a thudding noise and glowering at Sherlock.

"Never liked riddles from other people," Sherlock remarked.

"No one except the bint though eh?" Moriarty grinned, standing, not noticing Leena stiffen and look back at him, not offended, names, no matter how crude, never bothered her, but surprised that he knew that _she_ was the _only_ one Sherlock would willingly take riddles from, "Learn to. Because I owe you a fall, Sherlock. I..._owe_...you."

He stared at Sherlock hard, promise in his gaze, before he walked away. Sherlock looked at the apple, the penknife in it, IOU carved into it.

"Did you get it?" he eyed Leena.

She glanced at the bookshelf and nodded.

~8~

Two months after Moriarty was freed, the press having eaten it up, John stepped into 221B Baker Street, shaking his head at what had just happened. He'd been kidnapped by Mycroft…again. This time to warn him to look out for Sherlock with Moriarty loose. The press was starting to turn as well, some man called Richard Brook claiming to be an old friend of Sherlock's, an actor that Sherlock hired to try and make himself seem impressive, at least according to an article by some woman, a reporter Sherlock had not only shot down but crushed. He assumed it was a revenge stint, he knew he was Sherlock's only friend so this Richard Brook was probably fake, trying to get his 15 minutes of fame. And then, of course, he'd been told that all manner of hitmen and assassins had moved in around their flat without him noticing, probably all gunning to take out Sherlock…or Leena, to get to Sherlock.

He'd asked why Mycroft didn't just talk to Sherlock about it, Mycroft had laughed and said that his brother was probably focused on wedding plans at the moment…or at least something as dull as that would seem far more appealing than sitting down for a heart-to-heart with his big brother.

The only good thing was that he'd_ finally_ found out what that whole feud and bad blood between the two were all about, apparently Mycroft had been a rather nasty boy to Leena as a child, taunting and picking on her. According to Mycroft it was so Sherlock would build a relationship with her, protecting her, sticking up for her, comforting her when he did so, make him just a bit more human, his own attempt to curb his brother's sociopathic tendencies.

John thought he was just being a boy and being mean.

Though he _did_ know that Mycroft cared for the girl. He had asked him to look out for Sherlock, if not for him, then for Leena. He was terrified she would be crushed and broken if anything happened to Sherlock. And John knew he was right to worry so.

He stepped into the sitting room, looking at the brown package in his hand, no note on it, just a black wax seal that had been left at the front door. There was brown dust in it.

"Sherlock, something weird..." he began, when he noticed Lestrade and Donovan were there as well, "What's going on?"

"There's been a kidnapping John," Leena breathed, squeezing Sherlock's hand. She was partial to children, always had been, even more so since working with the BAU. Her team leader, Hotchner, had the most adorable son, Jack, he was just a kid, much like her friend JJ's son Henry.

"Rufus Bruhl, the ambassador to the U.S," Lestrade explained as Sherlock grabbed a laptop and began to type away.

"He's in Washington, isn't he?" John frowned.

"Not him, his children, Max and Claudette, age seven and nine. They're at St Aldate's."

"Posh boarding place down in Surrey," Donovan added, showing John a picture of the children.

"The school broke up, all the other boarders went home, just a few kids remained, including those two."

"The kids have vanished."

"The ambassador's asked for you personally," Lestrade turned to Sherlock, who was already on his feet, heading to the door with Leena, his coat over his arm.

"The Reichenbach Hero," Donovan rolled her eyes sarcastically.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed at that.

"Isn't it great to be working with a celebrity," Lestrade laughed as he followed the couple out of the room.

"I _hate_ that name," Sherlock muttered, heading down the stairs, "Reichenbach Hero."

Leena just smiled and linked her arm with his, "Then be MY hero."

He gave her a small smile, "Always."

~8~

The small group followed Lestrade up to a crying woman standing outside St. Aldate's School, speaking to other officers, "Miss Mackenzie," Leena said quietly, holding up her phone with the staff records for the school, "House Mistress."

"Go easy," Lestrade begged Sherlock as he and Leena stepped over to the woman with John.

"Miss Mackenzie," Sherlock began, "You're in charge of pupil welfare, yet you left this place wide open last night. What are you, an idiot, a drunk, or a criminal?" he grabbed the blanket around her and pulled it off, "Now quickly, _tell_ me!"

She cringed, "All the doors and windows were properly bolted. No one, not even me, went into their room last night. You have to believe me!"

He smiled reassuringly at her and put a hand on her shoulder, "I do. I just wanted you to speak quickly," he looked back at John, Lestrade, and Donovan, "Miss Mackenzie will need to breathe into a bag now..."

Just as Leena handed the woman a brown paper bag.

John just stared at her.

She laughed a little, "You've known him nearly 2 years and you don't know what he can be like?" she knew this was going to happen. Whenever Sherlock interviewed a witness, it was either false shared sorrow, intimidation, or flattery. Crying women were never able to talk clearly, so intimidation it was.

Sherlock grinned and took her hand, leading them into the dormitories of the school.

"Six grand a term," John whistled, "You'd expect them to keep the kids safe for you. You said the other kids had all left on their holidays?"

Sherlock and Leena began to look in cupboards near the girl's bed, Sherlock on his knees looking under it.

"They were the only two sleeping on this floor," Lestrade nodded, "Absolutely no sign of a break-in," he watched Sherlock swing around a lacrosse stick before dropping it, "The intruder must have been hidden inside some place."

Sherlock looked over at a wooden trunk and opened it, spotting a large brown envelope with a wax seal on the back, already broken, inside was a large book, 'Grimm's Fairytales,' flipping through it before handing it to Leena, she was the literature one among them.

"Show me where the brother slept," he demanded as she flipped through the pages, focusing on the book to memorize it before it was confiscated as evidence as he was led into a smaller dormitory, looking at the frosted-glass door from beside the bed, "The boy sleeps there every night, gazing at the only light source outside in the corridor. He'd recognize every shape, every outline, the silhouette of everyone who came to the door."

"Ok, so..." Lestrade shook his head.

"So someone approaches the door who he _doesn't_ recognize, an intruder. Maybe he can even see the outline of a weapon," he stepped outside and pulled the door closed, raising his hand like a gun so the others could see inside that he had a 'weapon' through the frosted glass. He stepped back in, Leena joining him to glance around the room, "What would he do in the precious few seconds before they came into the room? How would he use them if not to cry out?" he moved to the bed, looking at the boy's things, "This little boy, this particular little boy..."

"Reads spy books," Leena pointed out, nodding at the books on the shelf, the fairytales taken away.

He nodded, "What would he do?"

"He'd leave a sign?" John guessed.

He sniffed around, moving under the bed and pulling out an almost empty bottle of linseed oil, "Get Anderson."

~8~

The room was nearly pitch-black as Sherlock moved an ultraviolet light on the wall beside the bed, 'Help Us,' written on it, "Linseed oil."

"Not much use," Anderson shrugged, "Doesn't lead us to the kidnapper."

"Brilliant, Anderson," Sherlock scoffed.

"Really?"

"Yes. Brilliant impression of an idiot," he smirked as Leena laughed, before he pointed to the floorboards, "The floor."

They looked down to see two sets of footprints leading out, Sherlock following them, "He made a trail for us!" John exclaimed.

"The boy was made to walk ahead of them," Leena remarked.

"On, what, tiptoe?"

"Indicates anxiety, probably a gun held to his head."

They moved around the corridor, Anderson bringing another light as Sherlock explained, "The girl was pulled beside him, dragged sideways. He had his left arm cradled about her neck."

They stopped a few yards down, the footsteps fading, "That's the end of it. We don't know _where_ they went from here. Tells us nothing after all."

"You're right, Anderson, nothing," he pointed to Leena.

She smiled, "Except his shoe size, his height, his gait, _and_ his walking pace."

Sherlock reached out and pulled the blackout material away from the window, using the light to see what he was doing. He knelt down and pulled a bit of the wood that had a footprint on it off the floor and into a Petri dish.

"Having fun?" John muttered.

"Starting to."

"Maybe don't do the smiling. Kidnapped children?"

~8~

"But how did he get past the CCTV?" John wondered as they sat in a cab, "If all the doors were locked..."

"He walked in when they _weren't_ locked," Leena shrugged.

"But a stranger can't just walk into a school like that."

"Anyone can walk in _anywhere_ if they pick the right moment."

Sherlock nodded, "Yesterday, end of term, parents milling around, chauffeurs, staff. What's one more stranger among that lot? He was waiting for them. All he had to do was find a place to hide," he turned and opened the door as the cab pulled up to St. Bart's. They headed in, running into Molly just as she reached the doors at the end of the hall, her coat on, "Molly!"

"Oh, hello," she gasped, "I'm just going out..."

Sherlock just turned her around, leading her back to the morgue, "No, you're not."

"I've got a lunch date."

"Cancel it. You're having lunch with us," he pulled a small bag of the wood chips out of his pocket.

"What?"

"Need your help," he put them back, "It's one of your old boyfriends, we're trying to track him down. He's been a bit naughty!" he stepped past her and smiled back at Molly, who just stopped and stared at him, much like John had, Leena having been distracted by a vending machine beside her.

"It's Moriarty?" John gaped.

"Course it's Moriarty."

"Er, Jim actually _wasn't _even my boyfriend," Molly stuttered, "We went out three times. I ended it."

"Yes, and then he stole the Crown Jewels, broke into the Bank of England, and organized a prison break at Pentonville. For the sake of law and order, I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship, Molly," he pulled out the bag of chips again and waved them at her, turning…

Only to have a bag of crisps held in front of his face by Leena.

"And you better_ eat_ it," she told him.

'I'm on a case,' he shook his head.

'I don't care,' she countered, 'You are going to eat.'

His eyes narrowed, 'Or what?'

Her own narrowed in return, 'Or else.'

'Or else what?'

She looked at the chips in his hand.

'You wouldn't.'

She smirked, 'Try me.'

His eyes widened and he took the bag of crisps, heading into the morgue as she smiled smugly, following him. John just watching both amused and shocked that Sherlock Holmes was truly about to _eat during_ a case, something he'd claimed he didn't do.

~8~

As Sherlock sat in his favorite lab, going over the evidence under a microscope, Molly staggered into the room with her arms full of books and files, John sitting at another bench going over photos of the crime scene while Leena went to get them some sandwiches from the canteen.

"Oil, John," Sherlock called as he opened the Petri dish and pulled out a chip, "The oil in the kidnapper's footprint, it'll lead us to Moriarty," he dropped some solution on the sample, making it fizz before taking the liquid and putting it on a slide, "All the chemical traces on his shoe have been preserved. The sole of the shoe is like a passport. If we're lucky we can see everything that he's been up to," he slid it under the scope and got to work, "I need that analysis."

Molly squeezed some liquid onto a glass and put a litmus paper on it, turning it blue, "Alkaline."

"Thank you, John."

"That was Molly, Sherwood," Leena called as she stepped into the room, handing John a sandwich as she moved to sit with the man and eat her own.

Sherlock looked at his notes, the four of five components labeled, chalk, asphalt, brick dust, vegetation, and an unknown substance, "I...owe...you," he mumbled to himself as he peered through the scope, working on the last component, "Glycerol molecule," he sighed, "What _are_ you?"

"What did you mean, 'I owe you?'" Molly asked, having been beside him, she watched as Sherlock lifted his gaze to watch Leena smile at something John said as the two quietly talked and ate, "You said, 'I owe you.' You were muttering it while you were working."

He looked back down at the scope, "Nothing. Mental note."

"You're a bit like my dad. He's dead," she cringed, "No, sorry…"

"Molly, _please_ don't feel the need to make conversation. It's really _not_ your area."

She winced again, but spoke once more, "When he was...dying, he was always cheerful, he was lovely, except when he thought no one could see. I saw him once. He looked sad."

"Molly..."

"_You_ look sad..." she glanced at the others, "...when you think they can't see you," she tilted her head as he looked at the two again before turning to her, "Are you ok?" he opened his mouth, "And don't just say you are, because I know what that means, looking sad when you think no one can see you."

"_You_ can see me."

"I don't count," she said quickly, and she knew she really didn't. Because she knew Leena could see it as well, she just didn't say anything about it, because the girl probably knew exactly what was going on already. She knew that her opinion would never amount to what Leena's did, and that was alright, as long as she could still help in some way, "What I'm trying to say is that, if there's anything I can do, anything you need, anything at all, you can have _me_," she flinched, "No, I just mean...I know you're engaged, I meant if there's anything you need..." she shook her head, turning back to her equipment, "It's fine," she glanced at Leena, "I'm happy for you, the both of you, you know. If there's anything you need me to do_ for_ you, _or_ for her, I'd do it."

He looked back at Leena, biting into her sandwich, laughing as she wiped a bit of sauce from the edge of her mouth, before smiling at Molly, "...thank you."

She nodded, "I'm just gonna go and get some crisps. Do you want anything?" she laughed, "It's ok, I know you don't," she'd seen him munching on the crisps Leena had given him earlier.

"Sherlock," John called as Molly walked out, spotting the envelope in a photo of the scene, "This envelope that was in her trunk. There's another one," he walked over to his jacket.

"What?" Sherlock looked up.

"On our doorstep. Found it today," he pulled it out, "Yes, and look at that," and handed it over to Sherlock, "Look at that. Exactly the same seal."

Sherlock pulled out the contents, the crumbs, "Breadcrumbs."

"Oh my God!" Leena breathed, her eyes wide.

"What?" John looked at her.

She shook her head, staring at them as though it should be obvious, "A little trace of _breadcrumbs_, hardback copy of _fairytales_?" they stared, and she rolled her eyes, "Two children led into the forest by a wicked father follow a little trail of breadcrumbs!"

"That's 'Hansel and Gretel.' What sort of kidnapper leaves clues?"

"The sort that likes to boast. It's all part of the profile, remember? He's the sort that thinks it's all a game."

"He sat in our flat and he said these exact words to me, 'every fairytale need a good old-fashioned villain,'" Sherlock nodded.

"The fifth substance, it's part of the tale," Leena continued, "It must be…the witch's house. The glycerol molecule," she flew through the app on her phone, finding a match, "PGPR!"

Sherlock ran a scan, grinning as it came up with the same result, a match.

"What's that?" John shook his head.

"It's used in making chocolate," Leena told him as Sherlock jumped up and grabbed her hand, running for the door, already on the phone to Lestrade.

~8~

Lestrade handed Sherlock a piece of paper as he led the three of them into the main office of Scotland Yard, "This fax arrived an hour ago."

_HURRY UP THEY'RE_ DYING!

Sherlock handed it to John as Lestrade looked to Sherlock, "What have you got for us?"

"Need to find a place in the city where all five of these things intersect," he handed his own paper to Lestrade.

"Chalk, asphalt, brick dust, vegetation...what the hell is this? Chocolate?"

"I think we're looking for a disused sweet factory."

"We need to narrow that down. A sweet factory with asphalt?"

"No. No, no, no. Too general. Need something more specific. Chalk, chalky clay, that's a far thinner band of geology."

"Give me a mo," Leena called, pulling out her phone, running her app, adding in different components to locate one area.

"Brick dust?" Lestrade stared at it.

"Building site," Sherlock remarked, "Bricks from the 1950s."

Lestrade rubbed his face, "There's _thousands_ of building sites in London."

"I've got people out looking."

"So have I."

"Homeless network, faster than the police," he smiled snidely, "Far more relaxed about taking bribes."

"But not quite so fast as me," Leena smiled, holding up her phone, "Addlestone."

"What?" Lestrade gaped.

"There's a mile of disused factories between the river and the park. It matches everything perfectly."

"Excellent," Sherlock smirked, grabbing her hand and pulling her out, John rushing after them.

"Right, come on," Lestrade called to the others, spotting Donovan hesitating, "_Come on_!"

She jumped up and ran after them.

~8~

Several police cars raced up to a disused sweet factory in Addelstone, Sherlock, John, and Leena all rushing inside with the others. Everyone had their torches on, flashing them around as they searched for the children.

"You, look over there," Donovan organized, "Look _everywhere_. Ok, spread out, please. _Spread out._"

Lestrade led the trio and another party further into the factory, "Look in there. Quietly. _Quietly._"

They made their way in, when Sherlock spotted a mess of sweet wrappers on the floor around a candle and a plate. He knelt down and touched the candle, "This was alight moments ago," he looked out and called to the others, "They're still here!" he frowned, "Sweet _wrappers_. What's he been feeding you?" he picked one up and looked at it closely, "Hansel and Gretel. Leena," he held up the wrapper and she put her light to it, lighting it up as he sniffed it before tipping his tongue to it, grimacing, "Mercury."

"What?" Lestrade looked over.

"Oh my God," Leena's eyes widened, "The papers are painted with mercury."

John groaned at that.

"Lethal," Sherlock nodded, "The more of the stuff they ate..."

"It was killing them," John frowned.

"But it's not enough to kill them on its own," Leena shook her head, "Taken in large enough quantities, eventually it _would_ kill them."

"He didn't need to be there for the execution," Sherlock muttered, thinking about Moriarty, "Murder by remote control. He could be a thousand miles away. The hungrier they got, the more they ate...the faster they died," he grinned, "Neat."

"Sherwood," Leena shook her head, frowning.

"Sorry."

"Over here!" Donovan suddenly called out. Everyone ran over to see she had found the children, the little girl terrified, her brother unconscious, "I've got you. Don't worry."

~8~

Sherlock paced outside an office in Scotland Yard as John sat nearby, Leena leaning against the wall, when Donovan and Lestrade came out, "Right, then," Donovan glared at Sherlock, "The _professionals_ have finished. If the _amateurs_ wanna go in and have their turn..."

John stood up and walked over as Lestrade turned to Sherlock, "Now, remember, she's in _shock _and she's just seven years old, so anything you can do to..."

"...not be myself," Sherlock supplied, turning down the collar of his jacket.

"Yeah. Might be helpful. Jackie," he turned to her, "Keep an eye on him."

She nodded and they stepped into the room to see the little girl sitting at a table, looking at her lap with a female officer beside her.

"Claudette, I..." Sherlock began.

But he got no further as the girl took one look at him and began to scream.

"No…no, I know it's been hard for you," she started scrambling to get away, pointing at him, as Leena frowned, "Claudette, listen to me..."

"Out!" Lestrade shoved him, "_Get out_!"

Leena stepped out with him, walking over to him as he stood staring at the wall across the hall, and put her arms around him, she could tell he was shaken by that.

~8~

Sherlock stood by the window of another office, looking out at the night through the Venetian blinds, waiting for Leena. She'd gone to try and speak with the child, having experience with traumatized children. He tried his hardest to ignore Donovan standing across the room glaring at him.

"Makes no sense," John sighed.

"The kid's traumatized," Lestrade shrugged, "Something about Sherlock reminds her of the kidnapper."

"So what's she said?"

"She won't talk," Leena answered as she stepped out, walking over to Sherlock, "Give it a day or so for her to process what happened and I'll try again."

"And the boy?"

"No, he's unconscious, still in intensive care," Lestrade remarked.

Sherlock frowned, spotting IOU spray painted on three office windows across the way. Leena's eyes narrowed at it as she quickly pulled out her phone and snapped a picture.

"Well, don't let it get to you," Lestrade turned to him as the lights in the building across the way went out, "_I_ always feel like screaming when you walk into a room! In fact, so do _most_ people," he looked at Donovan and John, "Come on," he turned and left as John went with him.

Donovan though, waited till Sherlock was leaving before saying, "Brilliant work you did, finding those kids from just a footprint. It's really amazing."

"Thank you," he remarked, continuing.

"_Un_believable," she said pointedly.

Leena just turned to glare at her, "Well believe it," before she took Sherlock's hand and pulled him on.

She just _knew_, from the moment she met the woman, Sally Donovan would cause problems.

As soon as they made it out of the office she pulled something out of her coat, the IOU reminding her of something. It was a small pin that she clipped to his coat lapel. She gave it a pat before pulling him on again, outside, to where John was hailing a cab.

"You ok?" John asked.

"Thinking," Sherlock remarked as the cab pulled up, "This is _my_ cab. You two," he looked at Leena, "Get the next one."

She nodded but John just frowned, "Why?"

"You might talk," he told John, getting in.

Leena gave a sad smile as she watched him go, the IOU, it was becoming a calling card. Whenever it appeared, Moriarty wanted to talk. That pin...it would need silence to work, but they couldn't tell John that.

"Come on John," she held up a hand, calling another cab.

~8~

Sherlock sat in the back of the cab, staring at the monitor on the TV screen in the back of the driver's seat, waiting, unsurprised when it switched on. He rolled his eyes as an advertisement played, waiting, till the screen went to static and Moriarty appeared, grinning.

"Hullo," he began, his voice sing-song, "Are you ready for the story? This is the story of Sir Boast-a-lot. Sir Boast-a-lot was the bravest and cleverest knight at the Round Table, but soon the other knights began to grow tired of his stories about how brave he was and how many dragons he'd slain...and soon they began to wonder...'are Sir Boast-a-lot's stories even true?'" he shook his head, "Oh, no. So one of the knights went to King Arthur and said..." he began to dramatically whisper, "'I don't _believe_ Sir Boast-a-lot's stories. He's just a big old liar who makes things up to make himself look good.' And then even the _King_ began to wonder..." he frowned, raising a finger to his lips, before shaking his head, "But that wasn't the end of Sir Boast-a-lot's problem. No. That wasn't the _final_ problem," Sherlock grimaced as the camera panned out on Moriarty, "The End."

The image cut back to the advert before Sherlock shouted, "Stop the cab! _Stop the cab! _What _was_ that?" he jumped out and ran to the driver's door, "What _was_ that?"

His eyes widened as he realized the driver was none other than Moriarty himself, "No charge," the man grinned, before speeding away.

He chased after the cab, but it was gone, leaving him to stop in the middle of the road, glaring at it, not seeing another car speeding behind him. The horn sounded and he turned.

"Look out!" a man hurried off the sidewalk and shoved him out of the way, both of them panting.

"Thank you," Sherlock gasped, catching his breath. He held out his hand to shake the man's and the man reluctantly did so...moments before he was shot three times from somewhere behind Sherlock. He spun around as the man fell, trying to find the source, when a black cab pulled up and John and Leena jumped out.

"Sherlock!" they both shouted, running over.

~8~

"That…it's him," John breathed some time later as an ambulance took the man, someone John recognized as an assassin, away, "It's him. Sulejmani or something. Mycroft showed me his file. He's a big Albanian gangster lives two doors down from us."

"He died because I shook his hand," Sherlock stated.

"What do you mean?" Leena looked at him.

"He saved my life but he couldn't _touch_ me. Why?" he squeezed her hand and stormed off, John following.

~8~

Sherlock quickly entered 221B Baker Street, pulling off his coat and scarf as he headed to the laptop on the table, "Four assassins living right on our doorstep. They didn't come here to _kill_ me, they have to keep me _alive_," he sat down, Leena stepping beside him to put a hand on his shoulder as John moved to the window, keeping a lookout, "I've got something that all of them want, but if one of them approaches me..."

"...the others kill them before they can get it," John finished.

Leena sighed and walked over to the bookshelf, needing something to settle her nerves. Books were to her what cases were to Sherlock.

"All of the attention is focused on me. There's a surveillance web closing in on us right now."

"So what have you got that's so important?"

Leena looked up at the bookshelf, at the book on the far right where she knew a camera had been stuck.

Because she had put it there.

The doorbell rang and, moments later, Lestrade entered the room, "No, Inspector," Sherlock called.

"What?" Lestrade frowned.

"The answer's no."

"But you haven't heard the question!"

He stood up and walked to Lestrade, "You want to take me to the station. Just saving you the trouble of asking."

"Sherlock..." he sighed.

"The scream?" Leena guessed.

"Yeah."

"Who was it?" Sherlock asked.

"Who do you think Sherwood?" Leena cut in, "Sally."

"Am I somehow responsible for the kidnapping? Ah, Moriarty is smart. He planted that doubt in her head, that little nagging sensation. You're gonna have to be strong to resist. You can't kill an idea, can you? Not once it's made a home..." he poked Lestrade's forehead, "...there."

"Will you come?" Lestrade frowned.

Sherlock turned away, back to the laptop, "One photograph, that's his next move. Moriarty's game, first the scream, then a photograph of me being taken in for questioning. He wants to destroy me, inch by inch."

Leena stepped over, "It's a _game_, Greg, it's all a game to him."

Sherlock glanced at Leena, his gaze softening, "And not one I'm willing to play," he looked back at the screen, "Give my regards to Sergeant Donovan."

"I'll walk you out," Leena offered, moving to open the door for Lestrade. She followed him down the stairs to the main hall, where, of course, Donovan was standing.

Leena glared at her, "Sally," Donovan looked at her, "You're a weak minded, jealous, stupid bint," Donovan gasped, offended, "I hope you know that," before Leena turned and headed back upstairs.

"They'll be deciding," she heard Sherlock state.

"Deciding?" John asked from his spot by the window, watching Lestrade leave with Donovan.

"Whether to come back with a warrant and arrest me."

"You think?"

Leena sighed, "It's standard procedure."

"Should have gone with him. People'll think..."

"I don't care what people think," Sherlock cut in.

"You'd care if they thought you were stupid, or wrong."

"No, that would just make _them_ stupid or wrong."

John rolled his eyes, "You'd care if it could affect Jackie!"

Sherlock was quiet.

John sighed, "Sherlock, I don't want the world believing you're..." he trailed off.

"That I am what?"

"A fraud."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "You're worried they're right."

"What?"

"You're worried they're right about me."

"No."

"That's why you're so upset. You can't even entertain the possibility that they might be right. You're afraid that you've been taken in as well."

"No, I'm not," John looked out the window again.

"Moriarty is playing with your mind too," he slammed his hand on the table, angry, "Can't you _see_ what's going on?"

John looked at him a moment before looking out the window, "No, I know you're for real."

"A hundred percent?"

"Well, nobody could fake being such an annoying dick _all_ the time."

Sherlock turned to Leena, "And what about you?"

"What about me?"

"What do you believe?"

"I believe I'm going to have to slap you, you stupid ass, if you're _seriously_ asking me that," she scoffed, rolling her eyes as she walked over to him, "I've known you nearly my whole life Sherwood, I've _seen_ you develop your talents. I _know_ they're real."

He smiled, as long as the two of them believed in him, he'd be alright.

~8~

An hour or so later, John's phone range, a message from Lestrade, "So, still got _some_ friends on the Force. It's Lestrade. Says they're all coming over here right now, queuing up to slap on the handcuffs, every single officer you ever made feel like a tit, which…is _a lot_ of people."

Sherlock just sat there, in the armchair, his arm absently around Leena as she sat on the arm, when Mrs. Hudson knocked and entered, "Oh, sorry, am I interrupting?" she looked at John, "Some chap delivered a parcel. I forgot. Marked 'Perishable,' I had to sign for it." she handed him a jiffy bag, John seeing the wax seal, as did the others, "Funny name. German, like the fairytales."

Sherlock got up and walked over as John opened it, just as sirens sounded outside. It was a large gingerbread man, a _burnt_ one, with a hole in its chest where the heart should have been.

"Burnt to a crisp," Sherlock muttered, glancing at Leena, concerned.

"What does it mean?" John asked, ignoring the slams of car doors and the doorbell ringing.

"Police!" a voice shouted.

"I'll go," Mrs. Hudson remarked, hurrying to get the door.

"Sherlock!" they heard Donovan shout smugly and all rolled their eyes, "We need to talk to you!" she called as they headed up the stairs.

"Don't barge in like that!" Mrs. Hudson called, keeping the police down there for only a moment as they ran up the stairs, John rushing to block the way as Sherlock casually put his coat on, Leena placing his scarf around his neck.

"Have you got a warrant?" John demanded, "Have you?"

"Leave it, John," Lestrade sighed.

"Really!" Mrs. Hudson huffed, "Manners!"

Leena turned as the men entered, one of the officers rushing right up to handcuff Sherlock.

"Sherlock Holmes, I'm arresting you on suspicion of abduction and kidnapping," Lestrade said, resigned.

A/N: Lol, I always wanted someone to say something to Sally, Leena's just the sort to do it too. Believe me, this will NOT be the last time Leena puts Sally in her place. In fact...things will get quite bad for Miss Donovan if Leena gets her way...

As for the last chapter and the movie reference, yup 'you drugged my cat!' was it..._part_ of it lol :) That entire scene from when Sherlock remarks about how she's never complained about his experiments before up to the poor old drugged cat were adapted from the movie lol.

So sad though, there's only _one_ chapter left! And then we have _so long_ before I'll return with Series 3, so long before it even starts _filming_. -sigh- Why must the BBC put such long breaks between their amazing shows? -grumbles quietly-


	6. The Reichenbach Falls: The Truth

The Reichenbach Falls: The Truth

"He's not resisting!" John shouted as the officer twisted Sherlock's arm roughly.

"It's alright, John," Sherlock told him.

"He's not resisting. No, it's _not_ alright. This is _ridiculous_."

"I agree," Leena glared at the men.

"Get him downstairs now," Lestrade ordered as Sherlock was marched away.

"You know you don't have to do..." John turned to Lestrade.

"Don't try to interfere, or I shall arrest you too."

"Greg!" Leena called as Donovan entered, standing by the door, smug.

"What?" he turned to her as she walked over to him.

"You'd have to arrest me for assaulting an officer yeah?"

"Don't Jac..."

She just turned and punched Donovan hard across the face, sending her falling to the ground. She shook her hand out, "Damn it!" she snapped, it hurt. But then she smiled at John, exhilarated, "God, I've wanted to do that for _ages_!"

Lestrade sighed and reached out to cuff her too, her hands behind her back, leading her away.

John stared at the woman picking herself up and glared, "You done?"

"I said it," she muttered, rubbing her jaw, "First time we met. 'Solving crimes won't be enough. One day he'll cross the line.' Now, ask yourself, what sort of man would kidnap those kids _just _so he can impress us all by finding them?"

"Donovan," another man greeted, stepping into the room.

"Sir," Donovan nodded.

"What happened to your face?"

Her hand flew to her cheek where a nasty bruise was already forming, "Nothing sir."

"Got our man?"

"Er, yes, sir."

"Looked a bit of a _weirdo_, if you ask me," the man remarked as John turned to glare at him, "Often are, these vigilante types," and then he noticed John, "What are _you_ looking at?"

Donovan's eyes widened, seeing the same look in John's face as Leena's right before she got punched...

~8~

Outside, Sherlock looked over, his eyes wide to see Leena being led away, "What are you doing?" he hissed as she was brought over to him.

She smiled, "Hatman can't go anywhere without Catwoman eh?" she glanced back at the house as John was led out as well, "Nor Robin. We make quite the team."

Sherlock glanced back to see the Chief Superintendant walking out behind John, holding a handkerchief to his bleeding nose as Donovan followed, a bruise on her cheek. It was quite easy to deduce who had punched who.

"Joining us?" Sherlock grinned as John was slammed against the car next to them.

"Yeah," he remarked, "Apparently it's against the law to chin the Chief Superintendant."

Sherlock glanced back as his right hand was cuffed to John's left wrist, chaining them together.

"Hmm," Sherlock muttered, "Bit awkward, this."

"Figures," Leena sighed playfully, "They wouldn't cuff ME to MY fiancé."

"No one to bail us," John said, serious, getting to the business.

"I was thinking more about our imminent and daring escape," Sherlock remarked.

"What?"

Sherlock reached in the open window of the car, grabbing the 'talk' button on the radio, sending massive feedback through the earpieces of the officers around them. Leena jumped over her arms, turning and grabbing a gun from a nearby officer and aimed it at the others as they turned, seeing her now holding a gun at them.

"Ladies and gentlemen, will you all please get on your knees?" Sherlock called. When no one reacted Leena shot into the air, "_NOW_ would be good!"

She aimed at the men again, glancing at Lestrade and winking. His eyes widened, "Do as they say!" he gestured them down as they started to kneel, hoping they wouldn't realize they ALL had guns against Leena's ONE.

"Just…just so you're aware, the gun is her idea," John called, "I'm just a...you know..." he trailed off as Sherlock jerked him back, making their way to the corner, "So what now?"

"Doing what Moriarty wants," Sherlock muttered, "I'm becoming a fugitive. Run," he yanked John onwards, around the corner with Leena who had paused a moment to snap a picture of the wall, spray painted with an IOU on it, running down the road, knowing the police would be after them moments later, "Take my hand."

John rolled his eyes and grabbed it, "Now people will _definitely_ talk," they ducked to the side, around a corner, Leena dropping the gun, "The gun!"

"Leave it!" Leena called, pushing him on, pulling the boys into a side alley as police cars drove past. They came to a dead end, high railings blocking the way. Sherlock leapt at the dustbins, vaulting over the top, Leena jut about to follow…when John got stuck, his arm stuck up.

"Sherlock, wait!" John called, glaring at him as Sherlock was jerked back, "We're going to need to coordinate."

"John go right," Leena told him.

He tried to look over his shoulder at her, "What?"

"Go right," she moved him, helping to get him up high enough to get the link off the spikes at the top of the fence before helping him over it. She jumped down to the other side and they were off again. Sherlock turned right at a T fork but jumped back as a police car raced past.

"Everybody _wants_ to believe it, that's what makes it so clever," Sherlock remarked, all of them taking a moment to catch their breath, "A lie that's preferable to the truth," his eyes narrowed at nothing, bitter, "All my brilliant deductions were just a sham. No one feels inadequate, Sherlock Holmes is just an ordinary man."

"What about Mycroft?" John asked, "He could help us."

Sherlock pushed off the wall and looked back the way they came, "A big family reconciliation? Now's not really the moment," he spun around to look the other way when John spotted something.

"Sher...Sherlock," he elbowed him as a man peeked around the corner of the alley, "We're being followed. I _knew_ we couldn't outrun the police."

"That's not the police," Leena told him, she recognized all of them, she worked with them, and that wasn't one.

Sherlock nodded, "It's one of our new neighbors from Baker Street. Let's see if he can give us some answers," and with that, he ran, right out of the alley, around the next corner, hiding, waiting.

"Where are we going?" John asked.

Sherlock looked out to see a bus approaching, "We're going to jump in front of that bus."

"What?!" John and Leena exclaimed.

Sherlock just ran out, dragging John with him, looking back, signaling for Leena to stay there, watch. They stood before the bus, waiting, before the assassin ran out and shoved them to the side. They fell to the ground, Sherlock grabbing the man's gun and aiming it at him as Leena ran up, "Tell me what you want from me!" the man just stared so he moved the gun closer, "_Tell_ me."

"He left it at your flat," the man said.

"Who?"

"Moriarty."

"What?"

"The computer key code," he said as they stood.

"Of course. He's selling it, the program he used to break into the Tower. He planted it when he came around," suddenly three shots rang out and the man fell down dead.

A siren went off and they ran, hiding in an open doorway as a car drove past.

"It's a game-changer. It's a key, it can break into _any_ system and it's sitting in our flat right now. That's why he left that message telling everyone where to come. 'Get Sherlock.' We need to get back into the flat and search."

"CID'll be camped out," Leena shook her head.

"Why plant it on you?" John frowned.

"It's another subtle way of smearing his name," Leena explained.

"Yes," Sherlock nodded, "Now I'm best pals with all those criminals."

"Yeah, well, have you seen this?" John asked, spotting a copy of the Sun, announcing the upcoming article by Kitty Riley, "A kiss and tell. Some bloke called Rich Brook," Leena frowned, seeing the expression on Sherlock's face but John didn't notice, "Who is he?"

~8~

Sherlock, John, and Leena looked over as the door to Kitty Riley's flat opened, the three of them having broken in to confront the woman about her article, to find out who this source was. Kitty stepped in, turning on the lights to see the boys sitting there on the sofa, Leena on the arm of it.

"Too late to go on the record?" Sherlock asked. The woman just stared at him, slowly entering her flat more and moving to the armchair across from the sofa as Leena continued to try and pick her handcuffs with a hairpin, succeeding in freeing herself before taking Sherlock's hand and doing the same, "Congratulations," he eyed Kitty, "The truth about Sherlock Holmes," he took Leena's hand as she pulled away, kissing it in thanks before he got up and started to pace as she moved to free John's hand, "The scoop that everybody wanted and you got it. Bravo."

"I gave you your opportunity," Kitty cleared her throat, "I wanted to be on your side, remember? You turned me down, so..."

"And then, behold, someone turns up and spills all the beans. How utterly _convenient_. Who is Brook?" Kitty shook her head, "Oh, come on, Kitty. No one trusts the voice at the end of a telephone. There are all those furtive little meetings in cafés, those sessions in the hotel room where he gabbled into your Dictaphone. How do you know that you can trust him? A man turns up with the Holy Grail in his pockets. What were his credentials?"

There was a noise in the hallway, the front door opening as Kitty turned and stood, the door opening only for _Moriarty_, unshaven, with messy hair, in casual clothes, to walk in with a shopping bag, "Darling, they didn't have any ground coffee so I just got normal..." he stopped dead, spotting Sherlock, and backed away in terror, dropping the bag, "You said that they wouldn't find me here. You said that I'd be safe here."

"You _are_ safe, Richard," Kitty moved to his side, "I'm a witness. He wouldn't harm you in front of witnesses."

"That's if I let you live long enough to be one," Leena muttered, glaring at the woman, "You really are an _idiot_ aren't you?"

"So _that's_ your source?" John pointed at Moriarty, "Moriarty is Richard Brook?!"

"Of _course_ he's Richard Brook," Kitty rolled her eyes, "There _is_ _no _Moriarty. There never _has_ been."

"What are you talking about?"

"Look him up. Rich Brook, an actor Sherlock Holmes hired to _be_ Moriarty."

Sherlock just stared at him as Moriarty turned to John, his voice shaking, "Dr. Watson, I know you're a good man," he backed up as John glared, "Don't...don't h...don't hurt me."

"No, you are Moriarty!" John shouted, pointing at him, before turning to Kitty, "He's Moriarty!" and back to Moriarty, "We've _met_, remember? _You were gonna__ blow __me__ up__!_"

"I'm sorry," Moriarty buried his face in his hands, crying, "I'm sorry," he pointed at Sherlock, "He paid me. I needed the work. I'm an actor. I was out of work. I'm sorry, ok?"

John turned to Sherlock, "Sherlock, you'd better...explain...because I am _not _getting this."

"Oh _I'll_...I'll be doing the explaining," Kitty smirked, "In print," she handed John a folder, "It's all here, conclusive proof," John looked at the printed pages, an early edition of her article, "You invented James Moriarty, your nemesis," she turned to Sherlock.

John let out a breath as though he'd been punched, "Invented him?"

"Mhmm. Invented _all _the _crimes_, actually, and to cap it all, you made up a master villain."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!"

Leena stepped closer to Sherlock, taking his hand, squeezing it. He looked away from Moriarty and over at her as she stared at him. She KNEW the truth.

Kitty turned to Moriarty, "_Ask_ him. He's right here! Just ask him. Tell him, Richard."

John glared, "Look, for God's sake, this man was on _trial_!"

"Yes..." Kitty pointed to Sherlock, "...and you paid him, paid him to take the rap. Promised you'd rig the jury," Sherlock just stared at her, "Not exactly a West End role, but I'll bet the money was good," she put her arm around Moriarty, "But not so good he didn't want to sell his story."

Moriarty looked at John, "I _am_ sorry. I _am_. I _am_ sorry."

"So…so this is the story that you're gonna publish," John scoffed, throwing down the file, "The big conclusion of it all, Moriarty's an actor?!"

"He _knows_ I am. I have proof. I have proof. Show him, Kitty! Show him something!"

"Yeah, _show_ me something."

Kitty walked to her bag, John watching her as Moriarty turned to Sherlock and Leena, smirking before he put his act back on as Kitty handed John the folder, "I'm on TV. I'm on kids' TV. I'm The Storyteller."

John looked at the contact details for the acting agency, an article of Moriarty as an actor.

"I'm...I'm 'The Storyteller.' It's on DVD," he turned to Sherlock, pleading, "Just tell him. It's all coming out now. It's all over. Just tell them. Just tell them. _Tell him! _It's all over now..." he backed away as Sherlock advanced, "NO! Don't you touch me! Don't you lay a finger on me!"

"Stop it," Sherlock snapped, "_Stop it NOW!"_

"Don't hurt me!" Moriarty ran up the stairs, the trio after him.

"Don't let him get away!" John shouted.

"Leave him alone!" Kitty yelled after them.

They ran up the stairs as Moriarty dashed into a room, slamming the door shut. Sherlock shoved against it, forcing it open, only to see the man had escaped out the window.

"No," Leena called, pulling John back as he made to follow, "He'll have backup."

Sherlock turned and strode out of the room, back down the stairs, Kitty got in their way once more, slowing them, "D'you know what, Sherlock Holmes? I look at you now and I can _read_ you," she smirked, "And you...repel..._me_."

"And you _disgust_ me," Leena shoved her back, into the wall, knocking the wind out of her, "Come on," she called to the boys as they ran out the door.

As soon as they were on the street, Sherlock began to pace, "Can he do that?" John asked, "Completely change his identity, make _you_ the criminal?"

"It's part of the profile," Leena nodded, "He's been playing and planning this game for ages."

"He's got my whole life story," Sherlock muttered, making Leena stiffen, making her realize exactly how and from who the information could have come from, "That's what you do when you sell a big lie, you wrap it up in the truth to make it more palatable."

"Your word against his," Leena sighed.

"He's been sowing doubt into people's minds for the last 24 hours. There's only one thing he needs to do to complete his game, and that's to..." he stopped dead, staring at John and Leena.

"No," Leena shook her head, realizing what the last thing was.

To make her and John not believe him.

If his biggest supporters lost their faith in him then the rest of the world would believe Moriarty.

"That's _never_ gonna happen Sherwood. Not _ever_."

"What?" John looked between them, "Sherlock?"

"Something I need to do," Sherlock muttered, taking a step back.

"Sherwood, it WON'T happen," Leena stressed, "Not to me, not to John."

"What?" John frowned.

"I have to go," Sherlock shook his head, turning.

"At least let us help!" Leena tried.

He paused, no, she could get _hurt_.

"No," he stated, dashing off down the road.

Leena sighed, before grabbing John's hand, "Come on," she pulled him off, "We need to have a little chat with Mycroft."

~8~

"She has _really_ done her homework," John stated, the files Mycroft had shown him earlier in his hands when Mycroft entered his office to see him and Leena sitting there, "Miss Riley."

Leena looked at Mycroft knowingly, "Things that only someone _close_ to Sherlock could know."

"Ah," he shut this door and entered.

"Have you _seen_ your brother's address book lately?" John asked, "Three names, yours and mine and Jackie's, and Moriarty _didn't_ get this stuff from _us_."

"John..."

"Don't you _dare_ lie Mycroft," Leena snapped.

"So how does it work, then, your relationship?" John wondered, "D'you go out for a coffee now and then, eh, you and Jim?"

"_Sherlock_, Mycroft!" Leena shouted, "Your own _brother_, and you blabbed about his _entire life_ to this _maniac_. Your mother would be turning in her _grave_ to see what you have done!"

"I never inten..." Mycroft struggled, "I never dreamt..."

"So _this_...th…th…this..." John held up the papers, "…is what you were trying to tell me, isn't it? 'Watch his back, 'cos I've made a mistake,'" he slammed the papers down, "How did you meet him?"

Leena scoffed, "The government knows about people like him."

"We watch them," Mycroft added, "But James Moriarty...the most dangerous criminal mind the world has ever seen, and in his pocket the ultimate weapon: a key code. A few lines of computer code that could unlock _any_ door."

"And you abducted him to try and find the key code?" John guessed.

"Interrogated him for weeks."

"And?"

"He wouldn't crack, would he?" Leena guessed, "Not until you talked about Sherlock. Quid Pro Quo."

"So one big lie," John glared at the man, "Sherlock's a fraud, but people _will_ swallow it because the rest of it's true," he leaned forward in the chair, "Moriarty wanted Sherlock destroyed, right? And _you_ have given him the _perfect_ ammunition," he shook his head at Mycroft, getting up and holding out a hand to Leena, "Come on," heading of the door.

"John..." Mycroft called, "Leena," he shook his head as they turned to look at him, "I'm sorry."

"Sorry won't cut it," Leena glared, stepping right up to him, "And I am warning you Mycroft, brother-in-law or not, if ANYTHING happens to Sherlock, I will killyou _myself_. No matter where you go or how you hide, no matter the resources you use, I _will _find you."

And with that, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, a rather proud John following her, "I'll help you hide the body," he told her, before laughing.

"What is it?" she glanced at him.

"Nothing, it's just...always thought I'd say that to Sherlock first."

She smiled.

~8~

Sherlock was sitting alone on a bench in St. Bart's lab, bouncing a small rubber ball off the floor and cupboard, when John and Leena arrived.

"Got your message," John called as Leena moved to Sherlock's side, catching the ball and sitting beside him, linking her arm through his as she leaned on him.

"The computer code is key to this," Sherlock muttered, "If we find it, we can use it, beat Moriarty at his own game."

"What d'you mean, 'use it?'"

"He used it to create a false identity, so we can use it to break into the records and destroy Richard Brook."

"And bring back Jim Moriarty again," Leena nodded.

Sherlock stood up, helping Leena up as well. She frowned, seeing him sway. She knew that look, that reaction…he was drugged. But…this wasn't _typical_. He seemed almost slow, like he was moving through a bog, relaxed almost but not euphoric…

"Somewhere in 221B," he steadied himself, "Somewhere, on the day of the verdict, he left it hidden."

"Uh huh," John nodded, thinking, "What did he touch?"

"An apple," Leena answered, "Nothing else that I could see."

Sherlock's began drumming his fingers on a nearby table.

"Did he write anything down?"

"No," Leena sighed.

Sherlock looked down at his hands, at the tapping, his mind drifting back to Moriarty, drumming his fingers on his leg, and began to drum the same rhythm, the notes becoming a binary code in his mind. He glanced back at Leena and John to see them both talking quietly, trying to come up with where the code could be and pulled out his phone, sending a text to Moriarty.

_Come and play.  
Bart's Hospital rooftop.  
_**SH  
**_P.S. Got something of yours you might want back._

He sent the message and turned to the others, a sad look in his eyes, knowing what was coming, not just for him, but for them.

He closed his eyes, knowing how much it would hurt them if he couldn't stop Moriarty. The man could burn the whole world for all he cared, but so long as Leena, John, Mrs. Hudson and even Lestrade were safe, his world would be protected.

Suddenly John's phone rang.

"Yeah, speaking," John answered, before jolting, "Er, what? What happened? Is she ok?"

"John?" Leena frowned, Sherlock watched intently, "What's wrong?"

John held up a finger, listening, "Oh my God. Right, yes, I'm coming. We're coming," he clicked the phone off.

"What happened?" Leena asked.

"Paramedics. Mrs. Hudson, she's been shot."

"What?" Sherlock looked over, "How?"

"Well, probably one of the killers you managed to attract...Jesus. _Jesus_. She's dying, Sherlock. Let's go," he ran to the door, Leena with him.

"You go," Sherlock called, sounding disinterested, "I'm busy."

Leena froze, turning to look at him, frowning in thought at that. She _knew_ how much Mrs. Hudson meant to him, if she was hurt, Sherlock would be the _first_ one out for blood, checking to see if she was alright. His…apathy…well,_ if_ she WAS hurt, he'd be up in arms.

Sherlock gave her a look, seeing her figuring it out, seeing the truth in why he wasn't following them, telling her to remain quiet.

John, though, looked appalled, "Busy?"

He nodded, "Thinking. I need to think."

"You need to...doesn't she mean _anything_ to you? You once half-killed a man because he laid a _finger_ on her."

He shrugged, "She's my landlady."

"She's _dying_!" he shouted, furious, "You _machine_," he shook his head, "Jackie tell him!" she could only shake her head, "Sod this. Sod this," he headed for the door, "You stay here if you want, on your own."

"Alone is what I have. Alone protects me."

John glared at him, "No. _Friends_ protect people," before storming out.

Leena hesitated, looking back at him, torn. She knew she had to go with John to maintain the ruse Sherlock was trying to pull, probably to protect them, but she didn't want to leave him to face whatever he planned alone.

"Go," Sherlock said softly, staring at her with an intense look.

"But…"

"Go," he repeated, before smiling at her, "Mrs. Holmes."

She let out a breath, frowning, "I'd better still be when all this is over Locksley," she warned him.

He nodded and she turned to go, trusting him, as she so often did.

Only this time, for the first time, he knew she shouldn't have.

He waited only a moment before his phone pinged with a new message.

_I'm waiting..._  
**JM**

He got to his feet, heading for the door, buttoning his jacket as he picked up his coat and left the room. He quickly made his way to the roof, the sun shining, to see Moriarty standing there in his suit, hair slicked back, Moriarty again and not Brooks. He was sitting on the raised ledge of the roof, his phone playing 'Stayin' Alive' as he bobbed his head with it.

"Ah," the man remarked, not even looking back, "Here we are at last, you and me, Sherlock, and our problem, the final problem," he held the phone up higher, "Stayin' alive! It's so _boring_, isn't it?" he glared at his phone, shutting it off, "It's just…" he waved his hand, "Staying," before dropping his head, "All my life I've been searching for distractions. You were the best distraction and now I don't even have _you_. Because I've beaten you," he looked up as Sherlock paced, watching him, "And you know what? In the end it was easy," Sherlock stopped, "It was _easy_," he murmured quietly, disappointed, "Now I've got to go back to playing with the ordinary people. And it turns out _you're_ ordinary, just like all of them," he shook his head, "Ah well," he got up and walked closer to him, pacing slowly around Sherlock, "Did you almost start to wonder if I was real? Did I nearly get you?"

"Richard Brook," Sherlock stated.

"Nobody seems to get the joke, but you do."

"Of course."

"Attaboy."

He smirked, "Leena too," he watched as Moriarty's face fell, "Rich Brook in German is Reichen Bach, the case that made my name."

"Just tryin' to have some fun," Moriarty said in a false American accent, still pacing, glancing down at Sherlock's hand when he spotted him tapping the rhythm, "Good. You got that too."

"Beats like digits. Every beat is a one, every rest is a zero. Binary code. That's why all those assassins tried to save my life. It was hidden on me, hidden inside my head, a few simple lines of computer code that can break into any system."

"I told all my clients, last one to Sherlock is a sissy."

"Yes, but now that it's up here, I can use it to alter all the records. I can kill Rich Brook and bring back Jim Moriarty."

Moriarty stared at him a moment before turning away, disappointed, "No, no, no, no, no, this is too easy," he buried his head in his hands, "This is _too _easy," before lowering them, "There _is_ no key, DOOFUS! Those digits are _meaningless_. They're _utterly_ meaningless," he stared at Sherlock's confused expression, "You don't _really_ think a couple of lines of computer code are gonna crash the world around our ears? I'm disappointed," he turned away and walked across the roof, "I'm disappointed in you, ordinary Sherlock."

"But the rhythm..."

"'Partita number one.' Thank you, Johann Sebastian Bach."

"But then how did..."

"Then how did I break into the Bank, the Tower, the Prison?" he turned around, throwing his arms out, "Daylight robbery. All it takes is some willing participants," he'd bribed the men and women at all three places to set off the alarms, "I knew you'd fall for it. That's your weakness, you always want everything to be clever. Now, shall we finish the game? One final act. Glad you chose a tall building, nice way to do it."

Sherlock stared at him, bewildered, "Do it? Do…do what?" he blinked, realizing, "Yes, of course. My suicide."

"'Genius detective proved to be a fraud.' I read it in the paper, so it must be true. I love newspapers. Fairytales," he watched as Sherlock walked to the edge of the roof and leaned forward, looking down. He moved to the man's side, "And pretty Grimm ones too."

"I can still prove that you created an entirely false identity."

"Oh, just kill yourself. It's a lot less effort," he rolled his eyes as Sherlock turned away, pacing, "Go on. For me. Pleeeeeease?"

Sherlock reached out and grabbed him by the collar of his coat, spinning him around so that Moriarty's back was to the ledge, shoving him back a step nearer, "You're insane."

Moriarty blinked, "You're just getting that _now_?" but Sherlock shoved him closer, not that he was frightened, "Ok, let me give you a little extra incentive," he glared as Sherlock frowned, "Your friends will die if you don't."

Sherlock's eyes widened, his mind immediately going to _friend_, "John."

"Not just John," he whispered, "Everyone."

"Mrs. Hudson."

"_Everyone_."

"Lestrade."

"I _said_ I would _burn_ you," he smirked.

Sherlock's jaw tensed, "Leena."

"Oh," Moriarty pouted, "No, I wouldn't kill dear little Leena. Not her, no. Death would be far too _easy _for her," he smirked, "If you don't, I'll be sure to _torture_ her, the _worst_ hell imaginable. I've proven I can hide where you can't find me Sherlock. You'd never find her again, unless I grew tired of her and dropped her body off as a present."

Sherlock let go of him, shoving him away from the edge.

"Three bullets, three gunmen, but four victims. There's no stopping them now. Unless my people see you jump," he smiled triumphantly, "You can have me arrested, you can torture me, you can do anything you like with me, but nothing's gonna prevent them from pulling the trigger. Your only three friends in the world, the love of your life, will die...unless..."

"...unless I kill myself, complete your story."

He nodded, "You've gotta admit that's sexier."

"And I die in disgrace."

"Of course."

"And John and the others, they'll think it was all true."

"That's the _point_ of this."

He shook his head, "But Leena won't. Not ever."

Moriarty sighed, "I know. She knows you too well, has the most faith in you…" he smirked, "Though there was only _one_ time she ever _doubted_ you, wasn't there?" he laughed, "Tossing Irene at you was a stroke of genius, wasn't it?"

Sherlock's gaze narrowed, realizing it wasn't Leena's _faith_ Moriarty would hope to break with his suicide, but her _heart_.

Moriarty looked over the ledge, spotting someone stopping by the benches of the bus stop below, "Oh, you've got an audience now. Off you pop," he rolled his neck, "Go on," he grinned as Sherlock stepped closer to the ledge, right up onto it, "I _told_ you how this ends. Your death is the _only_ thing that's gonna call off the killers. _I'm_ certainly not gonna do it."

Sherlock blinked, anxious, "Would you give me...one moment, please, one moment of privacy?" he glanced at Moriarty, "Please?"

Moriarty sighed, disappointed, "Of course," he moved away, heading back across the roof…

When Sherlock started to laugh.

He paused and turned around, "What?" but Sherlock kept on laughing, "What is it?" he demanded as Sherlock just turned on the ledge, smiling, as he glared back, "What did I miss?"

Sherlock hopped off, back onto the roof and walked over to him, "'_You're_ not going to do it.' So the killers _can_ be called off, then, there's a recall code or a word or a number," he smirked, circling Moriarty as the man had done to him before, "_I_ don't _have_ to die...if I've got _you_."

"Oh," Moriarty laughed, relieved, delighted, "You think you can _make_ me stop the order? You think _you_ can make me do that?"

"Yes. So do you."

"Sherlock, your big brother and all the King's horses couldn't make me do a thing I didn't want to."

Sherlock stopped, right in front of him, "Yes, but I'm _not_ my brother, remember? I am you, prepared to do anything, prepared to burn, prepared to do what ordinary people won't do. And there is _nothing_ I am not prepared to do for Leena, and that makes me _far_ worse. You want me to shake hands with you in hell? I shall not disappoint you."

Moriarty shook his head, "Nah. You _talk_ big. Nah. You're ordinary. You're _ordinary_, you're on the side of the angels."

"Oh, I may be on the side of the angels," Sherlock agreed, his voice ominous, "But don't think, for one second, that I _am_ one of them just because I am _marrying_ one."

Moriarty stared at him, seeming to sense that, "No, you're not," he blinked before smiling, "I see. You're not ordinary. No. You're _me_," he laughed delightedly, "You're me! _Thank_ _you_!" he lifted his hand to embrace Sherlock but lowered it, offering it to shake, "Sherlock Holmes," he smiled, when Sherlock slowly raised his hand to shake it, "Thank you," he nodded frantically, shaking his hand vigorously, "_Bless_ you," before he blinked back his tears, lowering his gaze, working something else out, "As long as I'm alive, you can save your friends, you've got a way out. Well, good luck with that," he smiled manically, before opening his mouth wide and grabbing a pistol out of his waistband, firing into his mouth.

Sherlock leapt back, alarmed, as Moriarty fell to the ground, raising a frantic hand to his head in horror. Moriarty was dead and, with him, any hope he had of getting out of this. He panted, breathing erratically, his mind racing furiously…till Leena came to mind.

He let out a breath, closing his eyes as he imagined her, smiling at him, that proud look in her eyes, those gray eyes that shown with love.

His eyes opened and he looked at the ledge, slowly walking back over to it and getting up on it. He looked down, spotting a black cab pulling up, Leena and John getting out, having realized Mrs. Hudson was safe, that the call was a ploy to get them to leave him by himself. He pulled out his phone, hitting speed dial as he watched Leena frown and pull hers out, following John towards the hospital.

"Sherwood!" Leena gasped, "Where are you?"

"Leena…" he began, his breath catching.

"Sherlock, you ok?" John asked, he could see Leena holding out her phone between them, him on speaker.

"Turn around and walk back the way you came now."

"No, we're coming in."

"Just do as I ask," he cried, frantic, "Leena, please."

They turned back, "Where are you Sherwood?" she asked.

He could hear the fear in her voice, closing his eyes and forcing himself to reply, "Look up. I'm on the rooftop."

He opened his eyes to see them look up, horrified, "Oh God," John breathed.

"Sherlock!" Leena cried.

"I...I..." he stuttered, knowing what her using his name meant, she wasn't just scared, she was _terrified_, "I can't come down, so we'll...we'll just have to do it like this."

"What's going on?" John asked.

"An apology. It's all true."

"Wh…what?"

"Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty."

"Sherlock!" Leena shouted, he could see her turn to John, "Don't you dare believe that John," before looking back up at him, "Why are you lying?"

"Why are you saying this?" John asked.

"I'm a fake," Sherlock insisted, his voice breaking, ignoring Leena for the moment.

"Sherlock..."

"The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade, I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson, and Molly...in fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty for my own purposes."

"Ok, shut up, Sherlock, shut up. The first time we met...the _first time we met_, you knew all about my sister, right?"

"Nobody could be that clever."

"_You_ could," Leena cut in, "You _are_!"

Sherlock laughed, "I researched him," he swallowed hard, "I researched you John. Before we met I discovered everything that I could to impress you. It's a trick. Just a magic trick."

"No," he could see John shaking his head, "Alright, stop it now," before he turned to Leena, "I'm going to get him, you watch him."

"John!" he shouted, but John and already made his way to the road, making his way carefully through the cars, "Leena…" he began.

"Why are you lying Sherlock?" she asked, "It won't work. Not on me. On anyone else, but _not_ on me. I KNOW you."

"I know," he let out a tearful laugh, smiling down at her though she couldn't see, he _had_ to say it, say what he could to make her agree with the story, turn her back on him...

"So why are you…"

"Jacqueline," he cut in, making her pause, "Listen to me, listen to everything I say. This wouldn't work, not ever. Love...would never have worked between us. You must realize that. You _must_. I always lied to you, to John, and Mrs. Hudson. Lies from Sherlock bloody idiot Holmes. Please, believe me, the truth is, I _can't_ love you. For that I am so very, _very_ sorry. Truly, I'm sorry Leena."

"Don't do this Sherlock," she said, he could hear the tears in her voice.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, before he lowered his arm, dropping the phone before he spread his arms and fell forward off the building.

"SHERLOCK!" Leena screamed, running across the road, ignoring the cars that screeched to a halt to avoid hitting her.

John, who had _just_ reached the doors of the hospital, spun around at her shout, his eyes wide as he saw Sherlock hit the ground, and he ran.

John's world seemed to fade as he pushed his way towards Sherlock, through the crowd of people who had gathered around him, some medics from the hospital among them. He made it there, just as Leena did, the girl falling to her knees, shock already setting in, he could tell. He ran to her side, skidding beside her, trying to pull her back. He could see blood pooling under Sherlock's head, she didn't need to see this…the trauma alone…

She pulled out her his grip, "No…" she cried, reaching out to touch Sherlock's cheek, "Please," she begged, "Please, don't do this to me Locksley…"

He reached out, touching the man's wrist, trying to find a pulse, but another nurse arrived, pulling him away to check herself. He shook his head, swallowing hard as Leena sobbed. He quickly pulled her into his arms, helping her up, he had to get her away…

But she struggled when she realized what was happening, that she was being pulled_ away_ from Sherlock, and struggled, "No!" she shouted, twisting and turning, wanting to get back to him, _needing_ to get back to him, "No! Let me go!"

"Jackie!" John struggled to calm her, "Jackie stop!" but she struggled more, "Leena!" he called.

And she stopped, just crying as he held her, tears in his eyes as well as he rocked her back and forth, shaking as much as she was till her legs gave out and they both fell to their knees.

~8~

Halfway across the world, in America, a small team of men and women sat in an office at a round table, files before them as they reviewed their last case.

Suddenly a blonde woman in black spectacles ran in, "Oh my God!" she gasped, grabbing a remote from the table.

"What is it Garcia?" a handsome black man, one Derek Morgan, asked.

Penelope Garcia just shook her head, "Look," and turned to international news.

They stared, watching as footage played about a Consulting Detective, named Sherlock Holmes, who had taken his own life by jumping off the roof of a hospital in London. They stared as the footage cut to the actual fall, the landing, the gathering of alarmed men and women…and a young blonde woman collapsing in hysterics as another man held her, a very familiar woman…

"AJ!" Dr. Spencer Reid gasped, his heart racing as they watched her break down for the world to see.

"Oh my God," Emily Prentiss's eyes widened.

"That was Sherlock!" Jennifer 'JJ' Jareau breathed, shaking.

"What happened?" David Rossi turned to Garcia.

"Not now," Aaron Hotchner cut in, "Wheels up in five, move!"

They ran from the room.

~8~

John sat in the armchair of 221B Baker Street, his gaze locked on the cracked open door of Sherlock's room, where Leena was lying. The press had had a field day with all this, especially one Kitty Riley, who had all the people of London believing Sherlock had taken his own life out of shame that he was a fake. He'd removed everything in Sherlock's room that could remotely be harmful to her in her current state of mind. She'd broken down as Sherlock's body had been taken away. He'd feared for her well-being, feared what she might do…she hadn't slept the last two days. She'd gone right to Sherlock's laptop, sat there for hours on end, she didn't sleep, she didn't eat, she just worked away, printing things to put in a file she wouldn't let him see, taking only one break to stop by St. Bart's to visit Claudette, before getting back to work...till he'd finally gotten Mrs. Hudson to tearfully beg the woman to rest.

Leena, on the other hand, laid in Sherlock's bed, on her side, his robe around her, one of his shirts on the pillow beside her, just staring blankly at the wall. Wide awake, lost in thought, tears in her eyes.

She closed her eyes a moment, a tear falling from them, before she took a breath and opened them. She got up, shrugging off the robe and stepping out of the room. She paused, looking at John as he straightened up, "We're going out."

That was all she said as she grabbed Sherlock's laptop and files, and a few small brown boxes, before heading out the door, John running after her.

~8~

Leena strode through Scotland Yard on a warpath.

She had given John the laptop, box, and files as they got out of the cab…more like shoved them into his arms…before she headed for the stairs.

He hadn't had a moment to wonder why because the answer became clear. She stepped into the room, seeing the officers puttering around, Donovan and Anderson talking to a few other men, smiles on their faces, actually seeming _happy_ with what had happened, unlike Lestrade who, they could see through the window of his office, looked miserable and broken as a smug Kitty Riley sat before him, gloating, having been called in for questioning about her article.

Leena…walked right up to Donovan and Anderson, not saying a word as she grabbed their arms and forced them to walk, marching them, protesting, into Lestrade's office, glaring at Kitty as she told the woman to "Stay there!" shoving the two in, waiting till John had entered before slamming the door shut. She turned, the other officers watching as she glared at them, shutting the blinds, cutting them off from sight.

And stare they did when, an hour later, Donovan and Anderson stepped out of the office, pale, their eyes wide in shock, Donovan actually looking ill and even tearful as the two ambled over to their desks and began putting their belongings in boxes. The officers watched, confused, as Kitty Riley stepped out, seeming to have trouble breathing through her tears as she cried, shaking, her world looking as though it had fallen apart.

John stepped out after them, as solemn as Lestrade was, though Lestrade seemed to be glaring at the three in silent fury.

And then there was Leena…who just stood there numbly, walking out behind them, shaking.

"AJ!" someone with a distinct American accent shouted.

They looked over to see a group of three women and four men rush into the station.

"Spence," Leena choked out, starting to cry again as a young man in a sweater vest ran over to her, hugging her as the women ran to her side, overcome with grief and seeing them again.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade?" Hotchner walked over, reaching out to shake his hand, "Special Agent Aaron Hotchner."

Lestrade nodded, "I know who you are," he looked at John, "Her team from the BAU," he explained quickly.

Rossi stepped up, a hard look on his face as Morgan went to help the girls get Leena out of the room, the girl looking as though she were about to pass out, "What happened?" he demanded.

Lestrade sighed, motioning for his door, letting them in to speak to them.

John watched Leena be led off by people he now recognized as Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia, Emily Prentiss, and Jennifer Jareau. He sighed, looking at Donovan, glaring at her, as she looked down and took her box, leaving Scotland Yard with Anderson. He couldn't help but think about what had just happened only an hour ago…

~8~

_One Hour Earlier…_

Leena turned back around after shutting the blinds, glaring at Donovan, Anderson, and Kitty, "This is YOUR fault!" she snapped at them, "You pushed and pushed…"

"We pushed for the truth," Kitty rolled her eyes.

"You pushed for what you _wanted_ to see!" she shouted, cutting the woman off, making her jump as she slammed her hand on the table before them, "Not the _truth_!" she breathed heavily, "You want the truth, I'LL give it to you."

She turned to John, pulling one of the files from his arms, throwing it down before them, "I hacked into the phone records of Jim Moriarty," she told them as they stared, looking at conversations and text message response of him with a number of other men and women, all criminals, clearly having a real _relationship_ with them, "Conversations, texts, pictures, orders for murders, suggestions for crimes, going back _longer_ than Sherlock has been helping Scotland Yard," she flipped a page over, half shoving it at Kitty, "Records and transactions that were occuring at the exact same time your 'Richard Brook' was supposedly working as an actor, filming on set."

Kitty blinked, startled at that.

She turned her laptop, which she had opened as she was speaking, to show them, "Footage from our flat of Moriarty, threatening Sherlock," she played the footage of the camera she'd hidden in the bookshelf, showing them the conversation they'd had after he'd been found not guilty, the threats he'd made to the families to get his announcement. She tossed another file down, "Signed confessions of the jurors that their family members had been kidnapped, confessions by the kidnapped of the men involved, none of them Sherlock, all of them mentioning Moriarty," she switched to other footage, the pin she'd stuck on Sherlock after she'd seen the IOU on the building across the way. Moriarty talking about Sir Boast-A-Lot, how he had been planning for someone to doubt him, even Moriarty breaking character for that one brief moment when Kitty's back had been turned in her flat, jolting her.

"And this," she threw another paper down, "A detailed, SIGNED, record of the memory retrieval I did with Claudette after she actually had time to process what happened. She states the man who held her and her brother hostage was a tall man with a long coat, and BROWN hair. Not black. BROWN eyes, not blue! He even had a _cockney accent_ for Christ's sake! It _wasn't _Sherlock!"

Donovan looked a bit ill at that, but shook her head as though it didn't prove a thing.

So Leena tossed down the pictures of the IOUs, on the apple, on the building, on the wall as they escaped from the police at their flat. Everywhere.

She even played…his last moments, the discussion he had with Moriarty on the roof, the man openly admitting his plan had been to destroy Sherlock, that _Richard Brook_ wasfake, the meaning behind his name, which made Kitty gasp and look ill, especially when she saw the man she had let live with her urging Sherlock to take his own life for _fun_.

"And if that's not enough," Leena glared, grabbing the box from John's stunned hands, and opening it. It was a set of disks, she put one into her laptop and footage began to play that made their blood run cold.

'_Sherwood!' a young girl with a heavy French accent shouted as the film showed a little blonde girl running through a crowd of stuffy adults standing around in an extravagant ball room._

"Mycroft went through a phase," she remarked, watching herself pushing her way through men and women, heading for the little boy with curly black hair, sitting stiffly at a table, reading a book, "He wanted to be a director. Filmed _everything_ to make little movies…"

'_Sherwood!' little Leena continued, 'Eets my birzday!'_

_The young boy, who could be no one but Sherlock Holmes as a child, rolled his eyes, 'I'm well aware.'_

'_Will you do ze zing for me?'_

'_Why?'_

'_Because eets my birzday!'_

'_So you've said.'_

_Little Leena reached out and shook his arm, staring at him with hopeful eyes, 'S'il vous plait?'_

_He sighed begrudgingly, 'Fine.'_

'_Oui?' her eyes widened, 'You will?'_

'_Oui,' he nodded, closing his book, 'Pick someone.'_

_She beamed and looked around, 'Zat one!' she pointed at two men speaking near a buffet table._

_Sherlock's eyes narrowed, at the fat and skinny men, 'Twiggy or tubby?'_

_She laughed, seeming used to his less than polite remarks, 'Tubby of course! Even I can tell twiggy eez an accountant.'_

_Sherlock stiffened and looked at her, 'How?'_

'_Eez very tired, very stressed, very well-dressed,' she nodded, squinting at the man as Sherlock watched her intently, 'Ze only profezion stressed ziz time of year eez ze accountant!'_

_Young Sherlock nodded, 'You are getting better.'_

'_Merci beaucoup!'_

_Sherlock nodded, turning to the men…_

And they watched in awe as the 8 year old boy detailed the man's life from just looking at him. As he always did, thus disproving he faked the way he deduced things.

_Little Leena hung on his every word with rapt attention, till he finished and she clapped, 'You are amazing Sherwood!' she told him, smiling, 'Truly fantastique!'_

_Young Sherlock actually began to smile, a faint blush on his cheeks, 'You think so?'_

_She nodded._

_He put his book to the side, turning to face her, now seeming eager, 'Pick another one.'_

_Her eyes widened, 'Really?'_

'_Oui,' he smirked, 'It is your birthday after all…'_

They watched as she picked out person after person, Sherlock deducing them rapidly, it was clear to them that he was trying to impress her with the way he smiled every time she beamed at him, her eyes filled with pride and awe at how he was able to do it.

Leena cut the video off as silence filled the room, not even giving them a moment to speak before she put one more in, "All this over a _footprint_," she muttered, playing another video.

This time the two of them were a bit older, and from how things were being spoken, Leena was the one with the camera this time, following Sherlock around a pool.

'_Mummy will be pleased,' Sherlock said, 'She hates when people bring mud in and don't clean it up.'_

'_I still zink it was Mycroft,' Leena said, her accent faded quite a bit though with a few undertones of it._

'_No,' he shook his head, 'The print was just a size bigger than his. And remember,' he glanced back at her, 'The experiment? There was bleach mixed in the mud.'_

_The camera bobbed as though she were nodding._

"He'd taken a sample," Leena murmured in reminiscence, "Of the mud from the shoeprint in the kitchens so he could try to find out where the person might have been for a better idea of whose footprint it was. He put a drop of vinegar on it, it released chlorine gas, meaning the mud had traces of bleach in it," she looked at John, "Sound familiar?"

He nodded, looking at Donovan, who was looking down, "He took a wood chip that had been stepped on from the school to the labs, it found traces of brick dust, asphalt, chalk, vegetation, and _chocolate_. THAT'S how he determined it was a sweet factory."

'_Why do you always do zis Locksley?' Little Leena asked as they knelt at the side of a pool, Sherlock taking a sample of the water and a swabbing of the tiles around it._

'_Do what?' he looked up at her._

'_Solve puzzles.'_

'_I want to be an investigative journalist one day,' he shrugged._

Kitty let out a breath, shutting her eyes, _she _was an investigative journalist. And now, seeing the child version of the man she'd been gunning for…all the evidence _against_ what she'd written believing it was the truth…she felt _sick_, she could feel tears in her eyes.

'_I zink you should be a detective!' Leena countered._

_Sherlock grimaced, 'They're boring.'_

_Leena sighed behind the camera, 'Zey are. And ze police can handle crimes.'_

_Sherlock looked at her and they both laughed._

Lestrade couldn't help but smile at that, even then Sherlock had thought them idiots, and they had certainly proved it.

'_Maybe you could be ze person zey go to when zey get stuck,' Leena suggested, 'Like daddy's advisors and consultants.'_

_Sherlock paused, considering it, 'A consultant detective,' he hummed, 'A consulting detective,' he nodded, 'I like the sound of that,' he looked up at her, actually smiling, 'Thank you Leena.'_

She froze the image there, pushing the laptop down, "He later found out that the pool hand had brought mud in. The bleach there matching the bleach in the mud as opposed to the kitchen help and the cleaner who used a different kind of bleach."

She rubbed her head, taking a breath, before she looked at the three people she blamed most for his death, "And if that isn't enough evidence," she pulled one last file away from John, "I had a friend hack into the British Government when this all started happening," she tossed down the files she had just received, too late it seemed, the three hesitating before opening it, "All the records on Jim Moriarty, the _real_ records," she pointed to the files, reaching out to flip through them herself when they made no move to touch them, "Birth records, school records, transcripts from university, address, NHS numbers, driver's license, credit card charges, _everything_," she leaned down, her hands resting on the table to look at them, "He's REAL and because of you…my husband is _dead_."

He wasn't her husband yet, but he was as good as in her mind.

"I've provided all this information to your superiors Ms. Riley," she added, making Kitty gasp and look alarmed, this information could _ruin_ her! But Leena just straightened up and looked over at Lestrade, "If you don't fire _them_," she gestured at Donovan and Anderson, "I will _kill_ them," she looked at the duo, "So which do you value more, your jobs or your lives?"

"You…you can't," Donovan choked out, feeling so ill she felt she might vomit. _She_ had been the one to get the Chief Superintendent involved, give the ammunition_ against_ Sherlock by having him arrested, Anderson going along with her out of spite for Sherlock.

Leena just leaned closer to her, getting right in her face, "Well I don't have anything left to lose now, do I?" she looked between them, "You two saw to that yourselves."

"Sergeant Donovan," Lestrade called, standing, "Sergeant Anderson, I regret…" he paused, "No, I don't regret anything actually. You two, pack up your things and get the hell out of my station."

Donovan and Anderson nodded, getting up and heading for the door. They were getting off easy, they could easily be arrested for conspiracy and accessory to murder, for it _was _murder, Moriarty's against Sherlock.

Kitty stood as well, looking at Leena, "I can retract the article," she said, pleading, _needing_ her job, not this black mark on her record, _no one_ would _ever_ hire her again for printing such a fictitious story that drove a man to death, "Please, I…"

Leena just shook her head, "As though anyone would believe it now," she said brokenly.

Kitty hung her head, she knew her superiors couldn't print such a major retraction so soon after it happened, without making themselves look like idiots for allowing her article to be printed in the first place and losing public faith, but her time as a reporter for them would be over. Her name tarnished on the grapevine.

She turned and headed for the door after Anderson and Donovan…stepping out to see the other officers staring at them…

~8~

John, Leena, and Mrs. Hudson stood before a black marble headstone in the graveyard, flowers Mrs. Hudson had brought resting on top of them as she stood beside Leena, John on the other side of the girl with his arm around her shoulder for support as they stared at Sherlock's grave.

"There's all the _stuff_," Mrs. Hudson murmured, "All the science equipment. I left it all in boxes. I don't know what needs doing. I thought I'd take it to a school…" she looked at them, "Would you..."

John shook his head, "I can't go back to the flat again, not at the moment."

"I'm not leaving," Leena shook her head, "I'll find a place for everything Mrs. Hudson."

Mrs. Hudson nodded, thankful the girl at least was staying in the flat. Though she rarely ever saw Leena anywhere but in Sherlock's room.

"I'm angry," John said quietly, trying not to cry as he stared at the stone.

"It's ok, John," Leena reached up to rest a hand on his arm, squeezing it, "There's nothing unusual in that."

She was angry too, angry at what had happened, at Donovan, at Anderson, at Kitty, at Moriarty…

"That's the way he made _everyone_ feel," Mrs. Hudson added, "All the marks on my table and the _noise_, firing guns at half past one in the morning! Bloody specimens in my fridge. Imagine, keeping bodies where there's food!" she sniffled, her voice breaking, "And the_ fighting_! Drove me up the wall with all his carryings-on!"

"Yeah, listen," John turned to her, "I…I'm not actually _that_ angry, ok?"

Leena gave a small laugh at that.

"Ok," Mrs. Hudson nodded, turning to head off, "I'll leave you two alone to, er..." her voice broke again, "...you know," she sniffled and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue as she walked off to wait for them at the cab.

John looked down at the grave, stepping away from Leena and closer to the headstone, "Um...mmm," he took a breath, needing to say it and knowing Leena would understand everything and not bring it up again, "You...you told me once that you weren't a hero. Um...there were times I didn't even think you were _human_, but let me tell you this…you were the _best _man, and the most human...human being that I've _ever_ known and no one will _ever_ convince me that you told me a lie, and so...there," he let out a breath, taking a shuddering one as he reached out to touch the top of the stone, "I was _so_ alone, and I owe you so much. Ok," he swallowed hard, trying not to cry, "No, please, there's just one more thing, ok, _one _more thing…one more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don't...be..." his voice filled with tears, making Leena's eyes do the same, "...dead. Would you do...just for me, just stop it," he gestured down at the grave, "Stop _this_."

He sighed and lowered his head, covering his eyes for a moment, wiping at them, needing to be strong for Leena, before he turned and held out a hand for her to leave.

"Just a moment," she told him, "I just…" she swallowed hard and looked at the grave.

He nodded, understanding and headed over to Mrs. Hudson, giving her some privacy.

Leena stepped closer, kneeling down before the headstone and placing a hand on top of it to steady herself.

She knelt there for a moment, before smiling softly, "You stupid, _stupid_ boy," was all she said before she reached into her pocket and pulled a small Dictaphone out, placing it down to lean against the headstone, before she stood and walked back to John.

~8~

Standing some distance away, under a tree, hidden from view, Sherlock Holmes watched the small gathering, Mrs. Hudson leaving, John speaking and leaving, and then Leena…leaving him something before she too got up and walked away.

He watched Leena go, closing his eyes a moment as he recalled what it had been like, to lie there, playing dead, when she had touched his cheek, _begging_ him to be alright. It had taken _everything_ in him not to move, but to savor her touch, all his willpower not to react as she _cried_.

He swallowed hard, his gaze on her as she reached the cab, hugging Mrs. Hudson and then John before they got in, the woman pausing to look back over her shoulder at the grave, her eyes scanning the cemetery as though looking for something before she got into the car and it drove off.

As soon as it was out of sight, he walked to his grave, staring down at it, before scooping the Dictaphone up and pressing play.

"I replay that memory over and over you know," Leena's voice said, "Over and over and over in my head. I _never _wanted to see your last moments, but…I'm glad I did. Because I remembered. Our code. The _only one_ Mycroft _never_ managed to break. I had almost forgotten it. ALMOST. Our full name to start it, five words that start in a consonant, one in a vowel, and then our coded word, till it ends with our nicknames," she gave a little laugh, "Jacqueline. I. Love. You. Always. Mrs. Holmes. I. Am. Sorry. Leena," she sighed, "And then I see you jump. I see you fall. And I see you crash. But…" she let out a breath, "It's like you said to John when we went to Baskerville, once you've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth," she sighed, "I put it all together Locksley, I know what you did. But I talked to Molly anyway you know, she told me everything. But even if she hadn't, even if I didn't work it out myself...I'd _still_ know the truth. Because you made a promise to me once, that you'd never leave me. I _know_ you're out there and I've got all the evidence against Moriarty, proving he existed, proving who you are, proving your talents, so when you're ready…I will be too, ready show the world the truth about him, and about you. Ready to be Mrs. Holmes too."

He had to smile at that, she knew him so well.

"I made you a promise as well," she continued, "That I would always be there for you. And while you have seen to it that I will have to put a pause on that promise, I _can_ leave you with this message," she let out a little laugh, "You and my bloody accent, ought to marry it one day," she sniffled, before her accent came out, "Je t'aime Sherlock. Je t'aime toujours," she took a breath, "I'll be waiting."

There was a click as the recording cut off.

He let out a breath, closing his eyes before dropping the smallest of kisses onto the Dictaphone and sliding it into his pocket. He turned to walk out of the graveyard, hoping neither of them would have to wait too long.

To be continued...in...Welcome Holmes!

A/N: Surprise, Leena _knows_! After 20 odd years with Sherlock, she's already proved she knows how his mind works, can predict him effortlessly. It sort of makes sense that, while she didn't know it as it happened, she'd work it out later. Poor her though, having to keep it from John :( I wonder how it'll all play out in Series 3, hmm...

As for Welcome Holmes (a little play on Welcome Home) I'm really desperately hoping Series 3 will see Sherlock return and let John know he's not really dead, in which case, Welcome Home Sherlock Holmes lol :) I saw a blurb somewhere that the hint words for Series 3 are 'Rat. Wedding. Bow' as Series 2's were 'Woman. Hound. Fall.' Well...you can imagine where my mind went on Wedding eh? I guess we'll have to wait and see.

This story WILL be updated when Series 3 actually comes out, whenever that may be. Seeing how long it took me to write out an episode after seeing it, and since I couldn't find a transcript so I had to write it out entirely...I'd say...give me two weeks after the last episode airs before I start posting the story :) Unless there's a super fast transcript up within days after the show airs, then give me a week :)

Now that this series is over (for now!) I will not be posting anything tomorrow, save my New Years themed chapters of Recollections and The Adventures of Spaceman and Timegirl for DW. But after that, on the 1st of January, I will be back with an all new DW series, The Heart of Time Saga for anyone interested :)


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